Defenders of the Earth 1938
by JJ Rust
Summary: What if DOTE took place in 1938? Which great pulp/serial heroes would make up the team? How about Flash Gordon, The Phantom, Dick Tracy, The Shadow, "The Saint" Simon Templar and Crash Corrigan. They find themselves in the greatest fight of their lives when Ming the Merciless unleashes a new weapon upon Earth and Mongo.
1. Chapter 1

"Got 'im! Scratch one Deathstalker!"

Flash Gordon had no time to rejoice in the excited cry of his girlfriend, Dale Arden. He glanced at the circular electro-scanner on his console and bit his lower lip.

"One down, three to go."

Dale didn't respond. Electric crackles filtered through the ship as she kept firing the aft ray gun batteries.

Bright yellow beams streaked past the cockpit windows. Flash jammed the control yoke to the right, then the left. He hoped it threw off the enemy's aim.

It would also throw off Dale's aim, but that couldn't be helped. They couldn't afford to take a hit before reaching Earth.

"Doc!" Flash called to the pudgy, bearded man in the co-pilot's seat. "Any luck raising Earth?"

Dr. Hans Zarkov shook his head. "I've tried. Those ships must be amplifying the anti-radio wave field Ming's forces are sending through the space gate."

Flash grunted in frustration. He then threw the ship into another violent turn.

_Damn you, Ming. _Part of him wanted to be back on Mongo. He couldn't help but feel like he'd abandoned Barin, Thun, Vultan and Aura. But Earth was now threatened by Ming as well. Barin even insisted Flash and his friends return to their planet.

"We'll keep up the fight on Mongo," the Arborian prince had told him. "You get back to Earth. Warn your people. Do not let Ming's evil spread any more throughout the galaxy."

Another beam sizzled past the cockpit, missing the ship by only a few feet. Flash pulled back the yoke. The ship's snub nose rose. Flash then banked hard left.

"You know," Dale called out. "It makes it hard for a girl to aim when you're jerking the ship all over the place."

"Better you miss than they hit us," Flash replied.

"I suppose." More crackles came from the aft batteries, followed by an unlady-like curse from Dale. She must have missed again.

More twists. More banks. The three Deathstalker-class war rockets stuck to their tail like glue. The flurry of beams continued, each shot missing. Flash wondered how much longer their luck would hold.

"There's the Moon." Zarkov pointed.

Flash spotted the large, pockmarked rock hanging in the blackness of space.

"Almost home," uttered Zarkov.

Flash banked the ship again. He kept staring at the Moon, and the blue-white orb of Earth beyond it. The old adage came to mind.

_So near, and yet so far._

Another beam whizzed overhead. Flash jerked the ship left. He then pointed the nose with its needle-like projection at the Moon.

"Flash, what are you doing?" asked Zarkov.

"It's time we went on offense." He gave the scientist a quick grin. "Trust me, Doc."

Flash kept dodging beams, all the while keeping the Moon in view.

A shudder went through the ship.

"Everyone okay?" asked Flash.

"Yes," said Zarkov, whose face suddenly went pale.

"I'm fine," answered Dale. "Looks like they singed one of our tailfins."

Flash banked left and right. The ship responded fine. The damage must only be superficial.

_Thank God._

The Moon loomed closer. Flash put the ship into a dive. The cratered landscape filled the window.

"Flash?" Zarkov pressed himself back into his seat.

Flash kept the nose pointed at the Moon's surface.

"Flash!" Zarkov cringed, nearly shutting his eyes.

Teeth clenched, Flash pulled the yoke toward him. The ship pulled up. Beams from the Deathstalkers drilled into the Moon.

The ship streaked over the craters. Flash glanced at the electro-scanner, then out the window. He swerved, avoiding enemy fire, as he approached the northern pole.

He streaked over it, mindful of the Moon's curvature as he neared the other end of the pole.

All three Deathstalkers vanished from the electro-scanner. Without a clear line of sight, the device wouldn't work.

It also meant the Deathstalkers couldn't see them either.

Flash figured he had just a few seconds before the enemy rocketships cleared the pole and their electro-scanners picked them up again. He looked over the surface quickly.

"There!" He activated the braking thrusters. The top thrusters went off next. Flash lowered the ship into a crater. He raised the nose and kept the craft in a hover, waiting . . . waiting.

The three Deathstalkers flew overhead. Once they were out of sight, Flash silently counted to three.

"Hold on!"

The ship blasted out of the crater. Flash's eyes narrowed and locked on the three Deathstalkers in front of him. His thumb mashed the fire button.

Yellow beams shot out of the nose cannons. The center Deathstalker vanished in a white flash. Flash fired another volley of rays at the rocketship to his left. The tail section exploded. The front half spiraled into the lunar surface and shattered into hundreds of pieces.

The remaining Deathstalker shot toward space. Flash flicked a couple of switches on the console. Lights flashed, indicating the guided rocket launchers were ready. Six projectiles zipped away from the ship and homed in on the Deathstalker. The enemy ship continued to climb. Flash followed the rockets as they closed with the Deathstalker.

An intense ball of white light formed high above the Moon's surface.

Flash let out a long breath. Zarkov looked like he was hyperventilating.

"You okay there, Doc?"

Zarkov nodded, a hand over his chest. "Remind me never to doubt your piloting skills again."

Flash chuckled and looked over his shoulder. "Dale?"

"I'm fine." She headed back to the cockpit, an olive green Mongo flightsuit nicely hugging her slender frame. "I just wish those were the only Ming ships headed for Earth."

The smile faded from Flash's face. "So do I, Dale."

**XXXXX**

Emperor Ming sat up straight on his cushioned, squarish throne. Fingers steepled, his black eyes flickered from one viewing globe to another. Soft laughter bubbled up from his throat. Cities in Arboria, Frigia and the Land of the Lion Men were afire. Resistance against his forces crumbled.

_Mine. Soon, all of Mongo shall be mine again._

But he could not feel total joy, not while the planet's most notorious traitors remained free. Prince Barin, Prince Thun, Prince Vultan and his vile, treacherous daughter Princess Aura.

They would die. He would personally watch them die right here in his throne room. He envisioned them writhing, bleeding, screaming, begging for his mercy.

That thought made him laugh. As though anyone would be granted mercy from the emperor with the moniker of "The Merciless."

He only wished the Earthman Flash Gordon would be part of that suffering. But more than likely, he and that fat fool Zarkov were but atoms floating through space.

Along with the lovely Dale Arden.

A tiny hole formed in his chest. Oh, how he wanted the Earthwoman, to ravage her luscious body while Flash Gordon looked on, his arms and legs cut off, unable to help the love of his life.

Then when he finished with Dale Arden, he would throw her into the radioactive mines, where she would die a slow death.

Once they were all dead, the other rebels on Mongo would lose hope and surrender. Ming would kill them all, of course. Then no one would ever challenge his rule again.

"Your highness."

Ming stared over the viewing globes. A man in a gold breastplate, helmet and cape strode up to him. He thumped his fist against his chest and bowed.

"Report, General Zyk."

"The space command center reports they have lost contact with the four Deathstalkers we sent after Flash Gordon's ship."

"And Gordon?"

Zyk swallowed and trembled slightly, as did most who brought him bad news. "It would appear Gordon and his companions survived. They have no doubt reached Earth by now."

Ming settled back in his chair. He remained silent for several seconds. The nervous expression on Zyk's face intensified.

"It doesn't matter. Even if the Earthmen know we are coming, there is nothing they can do to stop us. Flash Gordon, and his entire planet, are doomed."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Chapter 2

Flash reduced the ship's speed and circled around the White House.

"Landing thrusters activated." He flipped a few switches. The ship hovered, then descended onto the South Lawn. After Flash had shot down the three Deathstalkers, the anti-radio wave field had dissipated and they had been able to contact Earth. President Roosevelt wanted a meeting with them as soon as they landed.

A slight bump went through the ship as the landing gear touched the ground.

"Earth, sweet Earth," said Dale as she stared out the window at the manicured lawn and trees that made up the South Lawn. "It's good to be home again. Too bad it's not under better circumstances."

"You can say that again." Flash patted her hand and got out of the pilot's seat. "C'mon. Let's go tell the President he's got big trouble coming his way."

Flash hit a button on the bulkhead. A side hatch slid open. Stairs extended to the ground. He took two steps down and halted.

"What is -" Zarkov didn't finish the sentence. His eyes widened when he saw twenty men in dark suits and hats. Some carried .45 pistols, others carried Thompson submachine guns. All the guns were aimed at them.

Dale sighed. "This is a nice way to say, 'Welcome home.'"

Flash raised his arms. "We did call ahead, you know?"

The Secret Service agents kept their weapons trained on the three.

"Put your guns down, gentlemen," said a tall, lean man with receding dark hair.

The agents did as told. Flash, Dale and Zarkov walked the rest of the way down the stairs and met the man.

"Harry Hopkins. Special advisor to The President." He shook Flash's hand. "It's a true honor to meet you, Mister Gordon."

"Thank you."

After shaking Dale's and Zarkov's hands, Hopkins led them across the South Lawn and inside the White House. Even though Flash had been here before, he couldn't help but gaze around at the ornate decor as he walked through the hallways. Even more than that was the sense of history this place exuded. Men like James Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Abraham Lincoln and the current President's cousin, Teddy, walked these halls. So many important decisions that affected the country, the world, had come out of this building.

Flash felt by the end of the day, more such decisions would be made.

Hopkins escorted them into the Oval Office. Even though he'd been out of the US Army Air Corps for years, Flash still came to attention when he saw the oval-faced, graying man with a distinguished air about him sitting behind the large wooden desk.

"Captain Gordon." President of the United States Franklin D. Roosevelt grinned. "Doctor Zarkov. Miss Arden. A pleasure to see all of you again."

The trio thanked him.

"Please, sit. I have a feeling this could be a long meeting."

Flash and Dale sat on one sofa, while Zarkov and Hopkins took the one across from them.

"So . . ." Roosevelt leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "Emperor Ming has reared his devilish head again."

"That's correct, Mister President." Flash nodded.

"I thought you and your rebel friends on Mongo overthrew that menace, that Prince Barin now ruled the planet."

"We did defeat Ming, and presumed him dead. Unfortunately, he took refuge on Bodom, one of the moons of Mongo. That's where he rebuilt his forces. Many of the major kingdoms on Mongo have already fallen."

"Is he using another super weapon, like the artificial meteors and the weather manipulator he used against Earth?" asked Roosevelt.

"Something like that," answered Flash.

Zarkov provided The President with the details of Ming's latest weapon.

"Lord save us." Hopkins grew very pale. His mouth hung open for several seconds before he gathered himself. "You're certain Ming's forces will invade Earth soon?"

"Absolutely," said Zarkov. "Ming has had his evil eyes on Earth for years. If anything, Flash's defeats of that madman have made him obsessed with our planet. With nearly all of Mongo under his control, I doubt Ming will wait long before sending his rocketships to Earth."

"Then we should be prepared to give him a proper greeting." Roosevelt hit the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, Mister President?" came the voice of his secretary.

"Marguerite. Get me Secretary of War Woodring right away."

"Yes, Mister President."

Four minutes later, Marguerite got back to Roosevelt.

"Mister President, Secretary Woodring is traveling back from a visit to the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. But I do have Army Chief of Staff Craig on the phone."

"Good. Put him through . . . General Craig, this is The President. I'm afraid we are faced with a very dire situation."

Roosevelt gave Craig an encapsulated version of Flash's story. "I want every single military unit put on alert at once. You can tell your counterpart in the Navy I want the same for every ship in our fleet. Also, get hold of Doctor Goddard in New Mexico. Tell him we need to have our special rocket wing ready for combat at once . . . No I will not leave Washington . . . Because it will appear to Emperor Ming that I am running away like a scared rabbit. I will not give that villain the satisfaction . . . Yes, you may send troops here to reinforce our security. Now let's hop to it, General. Who knows how long we have before Ming's rocketships arrive . . . Tell Secretary Woodring to call me the moment he returns . . . Very well. Good-bye."

Roosevelt hung up the phone.

"Doctor Goddard?" said Zarkov. "Do you mean Robert Goddard?"

"Indeed I do. He's been helping us build our own fleet of rocketships in the event Ming, or anyone else, ever attack Earth again. No offense, Doctor, but you're not the only genius out there in the field of rocketry."

"No offense taken, Mister President. But at least I had a crashed Mongo rocketship to study and rebuild into the _Defender. _Goddard must have done all his work from the ground up. Does he have a fleet ready?"

"According to his last report, we can probably launch two, maybe three rocketships."

"Unfortunately, Ming has a lot more ships than that," Dale pointed out.

"And his ships are probably more advanced than Doctor Goddard's," added Zarkov.

"Perhaps," said Roosevelt. "But given this threat, we have to throw every weapon we have in our arsenal at Ming. That goes for the other nations of the world. We need to coordinate our efforts." He hit the intercom. "Marguerite. I need you to contact the ambassadors from Britain, France, Germany, Japan and Russia. Have them come to the White House for a meeting. Tell them it's urgent."

"Yes, Mister President."

Roosevelt looked over to Flash. "Captain Gordon, I want you and your friends to be part of this meeting. In fact, I want you three involved in all our meetings regarding this latest threat from Mongo. No one on Earth knows more about that planet, or Emperor Ming, than you."

"Of course, Mister President. Whatever we can do to help."

A couple of minutes later, Marguerite was back on the intercom. "Mister President, I'm sorry, but I can't get hold of any of the ambassadors."

"Are they all out?"

"No. It's the phones. All our lines are dead."

"What? Get someone to check on them."

"Right away, Mister President."

Roosevelt stared at the intercom, a puzzled look on his face. "What the devil?"

Zarkov swallowed, the veins in his neck sticking out.

"You okay, Doc?" asked Flash.

Zarkov didn't answer. He looked over his shoulder at the radio set in the corner, then turned back to Roosevelt. "Mister President, may I turn on your radio? I wish to check something."

Roosevelt stared at him for a few silent seconds before nodding.

Zarkov strode across the Oval Office. He turned on the radio and moved the tuning dial back and forth.

All that came out of the set was static.

"Flash?" Concern settled over Dale's face.

He turned to her, then stood, his muscles tensing.

"Is there a problem, Captain Gordon?"

Flash swung around to face Roosevelt. "Mister President, I think -"

A thunderous roar erupted in the distance. The Oval Office shook. Roosevelt turned to the window. "Great Scott!"

"Oh my God." Dale stood, a hand over her chest.

Flash stared out the window, fists balled, watching the fireball rise into the air.

The invasion of Earth had begun!

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_A little background on the historical characters used in this chapter._

_Franklin D. Roosevelt: President of the United States from 1933-1945._

_Harry Hopkins: Advisor to President Roosevelt and one of the architects of the New Deal to try and help the country recover from The Great Depression._

_Robert Goddard: Considered the father of American rocketry._

_Marguerite is Marguerite LeHand, who was actually Roosevelt's private secretary and reportedly his mistress._

_Harry Woodring and General Malin Craig were the actual Secretary of War and Army Chief of Staff respectively in 1938._


	3. Chapter 3

The door to the Oval Office flew open. Four Secret Service agents rushed in.

"Mister President!" A broad-shouldered man made a beeline for Roosevelt. "We need to get you out of here, now!"

The agent grabbed the handles of Roosevelt's wheelchair. Before The President could utter anything, he was halfway across the office.

Flash followed them, along with Dale, Zarkov and Hopkins. He looked over his shoulder at the window. Another fireball rose over Washington DC. Deathstalker-class rocketships zipped through the sky. Yellow beams flashed from their nose, striking other parts of the nation's capital.

Anger boiled within him. He hoped, prayed, they'd have enough time to organize some kind of defense. No such luck. Ming wanted the Earth, and he didn't want to wait one second longer than necessary to dispatch his troops.

_You'll pay, Ming. I swear, I'll make you pay for this._

They dashed through the reception area. A couple of secretaries shouted into the phones. Flash knew no one was answering back.

One of the secretaries, who had a narrow face and short blond hair, joined their group. She took over the wheelchair from the big agent. Flash assumed this was Marguerite.

"I sent some agents to the motor pool," the big agent told Roosevelt. "They're going to meet us in front of the North Portico. Then we're going to get you out of Washington."

"Absolutely not, Phillips. You'll take me to the War Department."

"We don't even know if the War Department is still standing. Getting you to safety is our first priority."

"Our first priority is the defense of this country," said Roosevelt. "If we can't make it to the War Department, then take me to the nearest military base. We have to coordinate our efforts against Ming's forces."

"That may prove difficult, Mister President," Zarkov said as they hurried through the White House hallways. "Ming must be blanketing the Earth with his anti-radio wave field. Phones, radio sets, teletypes. None of them will work so long as that field is active."

Roosevelt's face tightened into a grim mask. Flash could feel The President's dread and frustration. If they couldn't communicate with the US military and other world leaders, how could they effectively fight Ming's troops?

More muffled thunderclaps reverberated through the White House. Flash kept running, jaw clenched. How many other cities around the world were suffering through similar bombardments?

Guilt seeped into his soul. What ifs ran through his mind. What if he'd been able to stop Ming's assault on Mongo? What if he'd left Mongo a day earlier?

What if he hadn't assumed Ming was dead after their last battle?

Flash shook his head, trying to purge the thoughts. He could do nothing to change the past. He could only focus on the here and now.

And in the here and now, his main job was to keep President Roosevelt safe.

"Mister President, you may be safer using the _Defender _to get out of Washington."

"Forget it, Captain Gordon," said Agent Phillips. "We have our own procedures to ensure The President's safety, and they don't include some contraption like that rocketship of yours."

"Agent, our ship is better armed and a hell of a lot faster than your cars."

Phillips glanced over his shoulder. "I am not putting The President's life in the hands of an outsider, no matter how many times he's saved the world."

Flash was about to respond when they neared the door of the North Portico.

"Magnuson! Stroud!" Phillips barked. "Check outside."

Two Secret Service agents with Tommy Guns hurried over to the door and took up position on either side. The one on the left nodded, and the one on the right flung the door open.

Everyone stopped.

Three cars sat in the driveway, twisted, flaming wrecks.

Flash looked beyond them to the wrought iron fence running along Pennsylvania Avenue. Many of the bars had been blown apart. Dozens of silver figures marched across the North Lawn. Each one was seven feet tall with rectangular bodies and legs. The arms looked like those of a circus strongman, only metal instead of flesh. The heads were conical, with slanted, glass eye slits and a triangular mouth that formed an evil grimace.

They spoke in a mechanical, grating voice.

"By order of Emperor Ming, surrender the American President to us or die!"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

Staccato bursts erupted from the Tommy Guns. Other agents fired their .45 pistols. Flash watched bullets spark off the torsos of Ming's robowarriors.

They continued marching toward the North Portico.

"Daniels! Knott! Get The President to the garage," ordered Phillips. "We'll hold 'em off."

"There's no way you can-"

"Go!" Phillips cut off Flash. He turned and emptied his .45 into an approaching robowarrior. It continued forward.

Marguerite needed no further prodding. She grabbed the handles of Roosevelt's wheelchair and pushed him down the hallway. Agents Daniels and Knott ran alongside them.

Flash grimaced and went after them, along with Dale, Zarkov and Harry Hopkins. He checked over his shoulder. Phillips and his agents crowded the doorway of the North Portico, blazing away. A sick feeling formed in Flash's stomach. He knew what was about to –

Two pencil-thin lightning bolts sliced through the torso of one agent. He crumpled to the ground, clothes and flesh smoldering. Another agent was hit. Phillips and the survivors backed away.

A flurry of bolts struck the North Portico. Crackles turned to crashes. Fire swept over the North Portico, and the agents. Flash turned away, eyes closed. Agonized screams followed him and the others down the hallway.

They rushed down one hallway, then another and another. Several White House staffers and employees ran around them. Some screamed, some cried, some shouted at the agents, "What's going on?"

Daniels and Knott responded with, "Out of the way! Make way for The President!"

Even in their panic, the White House employees moved aside for Roosevelt. Flash figured it was half out of deference to The President, and half due to the Secret Service agents waving their guns.

When they reached the garage, Flash pulled up and stopped. He bent at the waist and drew in a couple of deep breaths. He was still in as good of shape as when he played football and baseball at Yale. Even so, a long run like that would leave any athlete winded.

"Barricade the door!" ordered Daniels, who also sounded out of breath.

Knott slammed the door shut and shoved a work bench against it. Dale found a stool and put it against the door. Hopkins did the same with a tool box.

"That will not keep the robowarriors out for long," said Zarkov. "In fact, it will not keep them out at all."

Daniels scowled at the scientist. He then scanned the garage, which housed several long-bodied Buick 80 Roadmaster convertibles and Buick sedans with sloped roofs. All the cars were black in color.

Daniels sprinted to one of the sedans. He hopped in, started it and threw the car in reverse. Its clam-shaped trunk just touched the makeshift barricade against the door.

"That should keep them out for a bit." Daniels exited the sedan.

"So what's the plan?" asked Flash.

Agent Daniels turned to him. "We pile in two cars and blow past those tin cans."

"It won't work," said Zarkov. "None of these cars are strong enough to withstand a blast from those ray guns."

Daniels rubbed the back of his head. His eyes flickered from the sedan against the door to Zarkov, then to Flash. "So what the hell are we supposed to do? I have to get The President to safety."

"You won't do it in any of these cars. Even if you do, Washington's probably crawling with robowarriors. You'll never get out of the city. Our only chance of getting out of here is in the _Defender."_

"Which is probably being guarded by robowarriors," said Dale.

"Well after what happened at the North Portico, these are useless." Daniels held up his .45, then looked at Flash. "What about you, Captain Gordon? You've been on Mongo for how long? You must have something that can knock out those rustbuckets."

"We do have ray guns."

"Where are they?"

Flash frowned. "Back on our ship."

Daniels snorted. "Fat lot of good they're doing us there."

Flash eyed the door. How much longer before the robowarriors reach the garage? Probably minutes.

He weaved his way around people and cars, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. He didn't see much. The hammers, wrenches and screwdrivers that filled the tool chests would be useless against metal soldiers.

_Come on, Flash. Think!_

The only thing that could destroy a robowarrior was a ray gun. Right now, the only ray guns in the White House belonged to the robowarriors.

Flash's gaze halted on a pair of fire extinguishers hanging from the wall. An idea formed.

"Dale, Zarkov. Grab those fire extinguishers. Get on either side of the door."

"What are you up to?" Daniels' brow furrowed.

Flash explained his plan. The corners of the Secret Service agent's mouth curled.

"Do you really think that's going to work?"

"If you have a better idea, I'm willing to listen."

Daniel's whole face tightened into a mask of intense thought. It soon morphed into a mask of frustration.

"Fear not, Agent Daniels," said Roosevelt. "I have the utmost confidence in Captain Gordon's abilities."

"Thank you, Mister President." Flash only wished he had as much confidence in this harebrained scheme as FDR.

He directed Roosevelt, Marguerite, Hopkins and the agents to hide behind the cars. Flash then crouched beside Dale, who, like Zarkov, had the nozzle of the fire extinguisher pointed at the door.

Next came the worst part. The waiting. Seconds turned into hours. He waged a mental battle to push down his doubts and fears. The plan would work. It _had_ to work. He'd be damned if those metal menaces kill Dale or Zarkov, or The President.

He glanced up at Dale. All her concentration was on the door, her finger tensed around the trigger. Flash had to smile. Even in the most dire of situations, Dale remained cool and collected. That, and her stunning beauty, had been what attracted him to her during their days on the air racing circuit. He recalled how so many male pilots felt intimidated, even jealous, that this slender, blond aviatrix could fly rings around them. Not that they would admit it. They attempted to salvage their masculinity by suggesting, "No sense trying to get her in the sack. Dames like her don't like guys, if you know what I mean."

Dale's piloting skills never intimidated Flash. He found her intriguing, challenging, much more than the fawning, vapid women who liked to attend air shows hoping to snag a pilot.

He also found out that Dale did like guys.

A thumping sound filtered through the door, like a line of distant base drums.

Flash held his breath and tensed. _Get ready._

The thumping grew louder. Any second now.

The door opened a quarter of the way. Debris clanged and clattered as it was pushed along the floor. The door banged against the trunk of the sedan.

All was still for several seconds.

A horrific crash blasted through the garage. The sedan shot forward. The door flew open. Dale jumped back. The door missed her by inches. The sedan smashed into the side of another car.

Two robowarriors stood in the doorway, both their arms extended.

"Now!" Flash shouted.

Dale and Zarkov shot streams of foam into the faces of the robowarriors.

"Vision impaired," they both croaked. "Vision impaired."

Flash rolled forward. He stopped in front of the nearest robowarrior and looked up. A ray gun clung to the side of its right leg, secured by a magnetic clamp. Flash had banked on this, that the robowarriors would need both hands to push the sedan.

He tore the ray gun from the metallic leg. Dale and Zarkov kept spraying the robowarriors.

"Vision impaired. Vision impaired," they repeated.

Flash blasted the nearest one at point blank range. He swung the ray gun to the other robowarrior and fired. A shower of sparks exploded from its torso. Flash slid backwards along the floor as the monstrosities teetered and fell. They struck the concrete floor with an ear-splitting crash, just missing Flash.

He ignored them and looked through the door, down the hallway.

Two more robowarriors marched toward him.

Flash fired two quick blasts from his ray gun. Sparks and smoke belched from the robowarriors' chests. Both collapsed.

Flash looked behind him. Agents Daniels and Knott looked over the hood of one of the Roadmasters in wide-eyed awe.

"Gentlemen, we now have ray guns."

Dale snatched the gun off the leg of the other robowarrior in the doorway. Daniels and Knott ran into the hallway and retrieved the guns from the fallen metal soldiers. Daniels then peered around the corner.

"Oh crap."

He hurried back to the garage, Knott on his heels.

"We've got a dozen more of those tin cans headed this way."

"Then we'd better get out of here, hadn't we?" said Hopkins.

"I couldn't agree more." Flash glanced at the sedan that had t-boned the Roadmaster.

"Daniels. Put some rounds in that car's fuel tank." Flash pointed at the sedan.

"What for?"

Flash explained his plan. This time, Daniels didn't question him. He pulled out his .45 pistol and pumped all seven rounds into the fuel tank. Thin streams of gasoline trickled down the side and pooled on the floor.

Marguerite and Hopkins helped load President Roosevelt into one of the Roadmasters, with Knott behind the wheel. Dale slid into the driver's seat of a sedan, with Zarkov next to her. Flash stood on the car's left running board, holding his ray gun one-handed. It reminded him of a scene out of some gangster movie.

Daniels opened the garage door and hurried to the Sedan.

"Let's move out." He hopped onto the right running board.

Dale gunned the engine. The sedan shot forward. Flash braced his right arm against the inside of the door to keep from being thrown off.

The sedan roared onto the lawn. The Roadmaster carrying The President was right behind them. Flash twisted around. Two robowarriors stepped into the garage.

Flash extended his left arm and fired the ray gun. The bolts struck the concrete floor. Flames swept over the pool of gasoline and up the side of the wrecked sedan.

Half-a-dozen robowarriors had entered the garage. All their conical heads swung toward Flash.

The sedan exploded. Seconds later the Roadmaster went up in flames. The fireball consumed the robowarriors.

The two cars raced along the South Lawn. Flash's eyes swept left and right. The large expanse of grass was devoid of robowarriors.

Except for the four by the _Defender._

Flash leveled his ray gun and fired. Daniels also let loose bolt after bolt. Several missed. One blew apart the head of a robowarrior. Another got clipped in the shoulder. Flash missed it with his next two shots before the third finished it off.

Another robowarrior fired. The bolt sizzled just a couple feet past Flash. He returned fire. The robowarrior's chest exploded in a shower of sparks.

The last robowarrior fired. A bolt tore across the sedan's roof. Wisps of smoke wafted from the small, smoldering crevasse. Flash and Daniels fired at the same time. Both missed. The robowarrior returned fire. Flash ducked to avoid the bolt. The blond hair on his head stood on end. He fired two quick blasts. Sparks and smoke leapt off the robowarrior's chest. It toppled over.

Dale slowed as they neared the _Defender. _Flash jumped off the running board and pressed the button on his bracelet. The rocketship's side door slid open and the stairs descended automatically.

He and Dale covered the agents and Marguerite as they helped Roosevelt up the steps. Hopkins and Zarkov followed. Flash took one last look around. He saw no robowarriors on the South Lawn.

"Let's go," he told Dale.

She sprinted up the steps, as did Flash. He retracted the steps and closed the door. Already the hum of the engines droned throughout the rocketship. Zarkov must have started them up.

Flash checked on Roosevelt. He was strapped into one of the rear passenger seats. The Secret Service agents, Marguerite and Hopkins were also seated. Dale stood in the turret that housed the aft batteries.

"We're ready to depart at your convenience, Captain Gordon," said Roosevelt.

Flash nodded and raced to the pilot's seat. He flicked on the switches for the thrusters. The _Defender _rose from the South Lawn with a deep buzz.

"My God," Zarkov uttered as he stared out the window.

Flash followed the scientist's gaze. A cold, invisible blade pierced his stomach.

Over a hundred rocketships soared over Washington, D.C. Deathstalker-class pursuit fighters, Onslaught-class frigates, Annihilator-class dreadnaughts, Scourge-class troopships. Ray beams and rockets rained down on the city. Flames swept across the nation's capital. Thick clouds of ugly gray-black smoke stained the sky.

Flash's grip on the control yoke tightened, to the point his muscled arms trembled. The dome of the U.S. Capitol had collapsed into a pool of fire. The Washington Monument was nothing but a jagged stump of marble. Union Station and Griffith Stadium, the home of the Washington Senators, had both been reduced to rubble. The Washington Navy Yard drowned in a sea of fire. Still, tracers flew up from a destroyer moored at one of the piers.

A Deathstalker dove on it and launched two rockets. Flash's jaw clenched as he watched the contrails streak through the air and strike the destroyer. A gusher of flame ripped the ship in half.

Flash seethed. His brain screamed to charge at Ming's fleet, all guns blazing, shooting down every damn one of those bastards.

The logical side of his brain kept him from doing that.

_You have the President of the United States aboard. Keeping him safe is Priority One._

Flash swung the _Defender _west and accelerated. "Where to, Mister President?"

"Roswell, New Mexico. Doctor Goddard's base. We need to -"

"Flash!" Zarkov blurted. "The electro-scanner."

He stared at the circular scope on the console.

Three Deathstalkers were on the _Defender's _tail.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

Flash slammed the throttle forward. The _Defender _shot through the air. The inferno that was Washington D.C. blurred past him.

Ray beams zipped around the rocketship.

Crackles went up from the rear of _Defender. _Dale blazed away with the aft ray batteries.

"Hang on!" Flash shouted to Roosevelt and his entourage. "This rides about to get pretty bumpy."

He twisted the control yoke right. Marguerite let out a panicked yelp as the _Defender_ banked hard.

Flash made tight turn after tight turn. More rays flashed past them. He glanced at the electro-scanner. The three Deathstalkers stayed on his tail.

He put the _Defender _into a near vertical climb. Flash clenched his teeth as the g-forces pressed down on him. Just as the edges of his vision darkened, he nosed the rocketship over. He checked the electro-scanner. Two of the Deathstalkers matched his maneuver.

The third one didn't.

Flash rolled the _Defender _on its back. He aimed the nose at the trailing Deathstalker. It started to bank left.

Flash fired three bursts from the nose-mounted ray guns. The beams sliced through the center of the Deathstalker. It exploded in a roiling ball of orange and black.

A _bang_ and a tremor rushed through the _Defender._

"Everyone okay?" Flash turned hard right the instant the tremor subsided.

Dale, President Roosevelt and the others acknowledged they were all right.

"Our starboard wing is damaged," Zarkov reported.

"Swell." Flash banked the _Defender _right. He grimaced. The turn wasn't as sharp as usual.

He looked below. Nothing but forest. In the distance he saw a series of dark humps.

The Appalachian Mountains.

If he could duck into them they might have a –

"Flash!" Zarkov pointed above them.

Flash looked up. A chill shot up his spine.

The rocketship was enormous, the size of a US Navy New Orleans-class cruiser. It sported a bullet shaped nose, large triangular wings and three domed ray gun turrets atop the fuselage.

It was one of Ming's Annihilator-class dreadnaughts.

A barrage of beams flew toward the _Defender._

Flash dove for the deck. The lethal lightning storm shot overhead. An expanse of lush green trees and fields rushed up toward him.

He yanked back the control yoke. The nose rose. Flash once again saw sky. The _Defender _skimmed over the treetops.

Flash glanced at the electro-scanner. He only saw one Deathstalker. Behind it, several fiery pieces of metal spiraled toward the forest below. He figured the other war rocket couldn't avoid the dreadnaught's barrage.

_That cuts down the odds a bit._

He then thought of the dreadnaught. Actually, he didn't think it cut down the odds at all. An Annihilator-class dreadnaught had more firepower than a dozen Deathstalkers.

Beams streaked around the _Defender._ They missed the ship, but tore into the forest. Entire swaths of trees erupted in flames.

Flash pulled the yoke back. The _Defender _climbed. The crackles from the aft batteries intensified.

"Any luck, Dale?"

"Yeah, bum luck. Those damned dreadnaughts have armor out the wazoo. The best I can do with these pop guns is scratch the paint . . . maybe."

Flash grunted and shoved the yoke left. The _Defender _felt sluggish as she turned.

A bright flash blotted out the cockpit window. Flash turned away, blinking. Red and yellow swirls floated in front of his eyes.

"That was close," said Zarkov. "Much too close."

Flash nodded. With its decreased maneuverability, it would only be a matter of time before the _Defender _got blasted out of the sky.

He banked right, still blinking. The colorful dots nearly faded from his vision.

That's when he got an idea.

"Doc. Standby the rockets."

Flash looked at the electro-scanner. The Deathstalker was on their tail. The dreadnaught trailed a mile behind it.

He pulled back the yoke. The _Defender _climbed higher into the sky. The Deathstalker followed. More ray beams sizzled past them.

"Set proximity fuses for fifty yards."

Zarkov turned to him. "Fifty yards? Why?"

"Trust me, I have a plan." He didn't say, "A good plan." It wasn't a good plan. It was a desperate plan.

Not the first desperate plan he'd come up with, certainly not the last.

Another beam missed the _Defender_ by mere feet.

_Well, hopefully not the last._

Flash twisted the rocketship around, flying right at the dreadnaught. He weaved erratically. Beams zipped around him. He took quick glances at the electro-scanner. The last Deathstalker remained behind him. Flash prayed it didn't become a victim of friendly fire.

The dreadnaught drew closer. Streaks of yellow flew from its numerous batteries. Flash dodged and banked around them. He checked the Deathstalker's position again.

_A little more . . . A little more . . ._

"Over the shoulder salvo, Doc. Fire!"

Zarkov stabbed the firing button on the console.

Six rockets shot out of the side launchers. They arced over the back of the _Defender. _Flash dove for the ground. He kept one eye on the electro-scanner. The rockets flew toward the Deathstalker.

All six exploded in front of the war rocket. It sped through the row of bright orange flashes. The Deathstalker wobbled. Flash smiled. The pilot had to be blind.

Just how he planned it.

The Deathstalker kept flying, in a relatively straight line, right at the dreadnaught. The larger rocket attempted to turn away.

The Deathstalker rammed into the dreadnaught's wing. The smaller ship flipped over and crashed down on the middle turret. An enormous column of flame burst from the dreadnaught's fuselage. The front of the ship angled up. So did the rear. Both halves of the dreadnaught fell to earth. The explosion sent up a massive fireball.

Flash let out a relieved breath and leaned back in his seat. All the tension vanished from his muscles.

"Electro-scanner's clear," he announced. "We're safe, for now."

"Outstanding flying, Captain Gordon," declared Roosevelt. "Simply outstanding."

"Thank you, Mister President. To be honest, it was more lucky than outstanding."

"Quit being modest, Captain. I doubt another man on this planet, or any planet, could have gotten us out of that pickle."

"Thank you again, Sir. Do we continue on to Roswell?"

Roosevelt nodded. "Absolutely. It's high time we take this fight to Emperor Ming."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. Chapter 6

Flash flew low and avoided major cities. No Ming ships attacked them as they flew a winding route through the middle of the country. Still, they could see large clouds of black smoke in the distance. Flash figured they came from cities like Chicago, St. Louis and Oklahoma City. The impulse to turn _Defender _toward those cities and blast Ming's rocketships from the sky pulled at his conscience. How many thousands were being killed right this moment? How many thousands, millions more would die?

But he kept flying west. Much as he didn't like it, logic had to override his impulse. The drag on the _Defender's_ right side grew worse. Even with his flying skills, how long could he last in combat with hundreds of enemy ships? Plus he would not throw away Dale's, Zarkov's or President Roosevelt's lives.

So he kept flying west. Over forests, prairies, deserts and little flyspeck towns not worth a single ray beam from a Deathstalker-class war rocket. Soon he passed over a town with a couple of built up streets and a few clusters of houses, and surrounded by miles of desert and mountains.

_So this is Roswell._

Following President Roosevelt's directions, Flash flew into the desert twenty miles beyond the small city. The only signs of civilization he saw were a couple of wooden ranch houses and some horse stables that looked like they'd been abandoned around the turn of the century.

"Land right there, Captain," Roosevelt ordered.

"Are you sure, Mister President? It doesn't look like there's anyone down there."

"Trust me."

Flash nodded and activated the landing thrusters. A warning light indicated the rear landing gear would not come down. Flash flipped the switch again and again. Still nothing. The damage to _Defender _must have been worse than he suspected.

He had to wrestle with the control yoke to keep the ship level as it slowly descended to the ground. The forward landing gear thumped on the sand. Seconds later, the tail dropped, sending another shudder through _Defender. _The nose pointed at a 30 degree angle.

Flash opened the door and lowered the steps. He made sure to bring his ray gun, as did Dale and Zarkov. They would not be caught unarmed like they had been back at the White House.

Worry flashed through him. Was the White House still standing?

Flash went down the stairs first, followed by Agent Knott, Dale and Zarkov.

"This place is as deserted as Ebbets Field when the Dodgers are out of town," Knott commented.

"I know," said Dale. "This doesn't look like any kind of rocket base."

"The President wanted us to land here for a reason," Flash responded. "Still, I don't see anything that -"

The door to one of the ranch houses opened. A dozen soldiers in brown uniforms and soup bowl-shaped helmets pounded toward them.

"Drop your weapons!" A portly man with sergeant stripes on his sleeve hollered. "Hands in the air!"

Flash stood still as the soldiers pointed Springfield rifles and Tommy Guns at him and the others.

"Take it easy, Sergeant. I'm Fla-"

"You deaf, buddy? I said drop your damn gun. Now!"

"Sergeant Bishop. Is that any way to treat an American hero?"

A tall, lean man in a brown Army dress uniform emerged from the house. His dark hair had been cut extremely short, with a touch of gray around the temples. His face had a narrow, chiseled quality to it. The silver oak leaves on his collar pegged him as a lieutenant colonel.

A smile spread across Flash's face. "Major Salveson. Sorry, I guess it's Colonel Salveson now."

"Life did go on in the Army Air Corps after you left, Gordon."

Salveson strode past the soldiers, who lowered their weapons. He took Flash's hand and gave it a hearty shake. "Good to see you again, Captain."

"Likewise, Ma . . . I mean, Colonel."

"Old friend of yours, I take it," said Dale.

Salveson turned to her. Like every other man who met Dale, he looked her up and down. A flicker of jealousy came and went in Flash. "This is Colonel Phil Salveson. We served together in the Twentieth Pursuit Group. Colonel, Dale Arden."

"A pleasure, Miss Arden." He shook her hand. "I've read a lot about you in the newspapers."

"I trust you've read about me in the newspapers as well, Colonel."

Salveson looked up. His eyes widened as he saw President Roosevelt in the hatchway of the _Defender. _

"TEN-HUT!" He and the soldiers snapped to attention. "Mister President. Welcome to US Army Air Corps Rocket Base Roswell."

Roosevelt saluted back and eased himself down the stairs. Marguerite and Hopkins were on either side of him, trying in not so obvious ways to steady him. Roosevelt's polio and use of a wheelchair were not common knowledge to the general public.

"You actually flew The President here?" Salveson whispered to Flash.

"This is where he told me to bring him. You think I'm gonna tell him no?"

Salveson grunted in acknowledgement.

Roosevelt stepped onto the ground and made for Salveson, Marguerite and Hopkins practically in his hip pocket.

"Colonel, if you'd be so good as to take me to see Doctor Goddard and General Logan."

"Of course, Mister President. Follow me."

Salveson escorted Roosevelt, Marguerite and Hopkins to the ranch house. When Flash started to follow, the colonel turned to him.

"Not you, Flash. You need to put that rocketship of yours in one of our hangars."

Flash looked around him. "What hangars?"

Salveson grinned. "Just take off and circle. You'll see it in a few minutes."

He continued on to the ranch house.

Brow furrowed, Flash headed back to the _Defender_ with Dale and Zarkov. They took off and circled the so-called rocket base. Flash kept looking out the window. He only saw ranch houses, stables and desert. He was beginning to wonder about his old friend's sanity.

"Look." Zarkov pointed.

Half-a-mile beyond the stables, the ground opened. Flash turned the _Defender _toward the opening, which grew wider by the second. He stared down into the hole. A circle of white lights illuminated a large metallic platform.

"So that's where they keep their hangars." Flash grinned. _Good one, Salverson._

"It makes sense," Zarkov added. "With a project this sensitive, you would want to keep it away from prying eyes."

Flash lowered the ship onto the platform. He'd just shut off the engines when opening above him slid closed. Colonel Salverson greeted the trio when they exited the ship.

"So this is the _Defender._" He spoke in an almost reverent tone. Flash noted the look in his eyes. One would think Salverson was staring at Greta Garbo in a bathing suit. "Wow. What a beauty."

"Thanks."

Salverson slowly walked around the rocketship, stopping when he got to the starboard side. He grimaced. "Looks like Ming's boys did a number on her."

Flash, Dale and Zarkov went over to him. He had yet to see the damage _Defender_ suffered during their flight from Washington.

"Aw cripes." Several unlady-like curses escaped Dale's mouth as she took in the ship's starboard side.

Flash groaned, anger lines digging into his rugged features. Two ugly scars ran along the length of the fuselage. Half the wing had been shredded.

_It's a miracle we made it this far._

"It's a miracle you folks made it here at all."

Flash looked at Salverson. "You just read my mind."

"This will take some time to repair," said Zarkov.

"Whatever resources you need, you'll get," Salverson told him. "I'll make sure of that."

"Thank you, Colonel."

Salverson nodded. "Now come on. Let me show you the Army Air Corps' rocket fleet."

He led them out of the hangar. For a brief moment, Flash forgot about the invasion, forgot about the damage to the _Defender. _The pilot in him wanted to see these rockets. Would they be similar to _Defender?_ How fast could they fly?

_Can they help us beat Ming?_

They hiked through corridors dug out of solid rock. Lights had been strung up along the walls.

"So what more can you tell me about this invasion?" asked Salveson.

"How much have you heard?" Flash responded.

"The War Department called here a couple of hours ago and told us to get our rockets ready, that Ming the Merciless was planning to invade Earth. After that, all our communications went dead. Radio, telephone, everything. One of our sentries spotted a squadron of rockets heading southeast, probably toward Houston or San Antonio."

"We figure they hit Chicago and St. Louis, too," said Flash. "But like you, it's hard to know what's going on with all the radios and phones out."

Salveson grunted. "I know. We have to use messengers to get information anywhere outside the base. It's a pain in the ass. This is probably what it was like for my grandpop back in the Civil War."

"Not entirely," Zarkov chimed in. "They did have telegraphs during that time."

"Mm, you're right. Maybe I should have said it's like the War of 1812." Salveson let out a brief sardonic laugh. "With our luck, we won't know this war's over until weeks later, like Andrew Jackson did after the Battle of New Orleans."

"Hopefully it'll be over in our favor."

Salverson turned to Dale. "That goes without saying, Miss Arden."

Their trek ended at a large steel door that resembled a bank vault. The two soldiers on guard saluted Salverson and opened it. Flash and his friends followed the colonel inside.

"Okay." Dale craned her neck. "_Now_ this looks like a rocket base."

Flash followed his girlfriend's gaze. Two long, slender rockets with pointed noses, bulbous cockpits and four fins on the tail section stood beside skeletal gantries.

"Here it is." Salverson held out his hand. "America's rocket fleet, if two ships can constitute a fleet. The _USS Constitution _and the _USS Freedom."_

Flash ran his eyes over both rocketships. "Um, they're . . . something."

Salverson chuckled softly. "I guess after spending so much time on Mongo, these ships must look damn primitive to you. But given the fact that four years ago the Army Air Corps' most advanced aircraft were biplanes, this is a pretty big leap forward."

"Doctor Goddard is to be commended on his work." Zarkov did not take his gaze off the rocketships.

"Have they flown yet?" asked Dale.

"Yes they have." Salveson nodded. "I've taken _Constitution _up eight times. _Freedom _has had five flights. I even orbited the Moon in the _Constitution_ twice. We were planning a lunar landing sometime in the next six months." He frowned. "I guess that's been put on hold thanks to Ming."

"What about armaments?" asked Flash.

"Two fifty caliber machine guns in the nose and two more in an aft turret. We can also carry four rocket-assisted two hundred-fifty pound bombs."

Flash crossed his arms over his chest. Against any earthly foe, _Constitution _and _Freedom _would be the ultimate weapons.

Against Ming's forces, he doubted they'd last thirty seconds.

_But it all depends on the pilot, doesn't it? _Flash knew Salveson was a damn good pilot.

"So when do we get those things in the air and go on offense?"

"Whoa. Hold your horses, Flash. After everything you've been through, you need a break."

"Break?" Flash snapped his his toward Salverson. "How can you talk about a break when Ming has his rocketships and robowarriors blowing the hell out of Earth?"

Salveson raised a calming hand. "The President told me you flew here all the way from Mongo, then you had to fight your way out of Washington. The _Defender's _damaged, so you aren't going anywhere for a while. Now's a good time for you three to get something to eat and get a little shut eye. I don't want you fighting Ming's forces exhausted."

Flash felt his mouth about to open, to argue the point. Unfortunately, his old friend made a good point.

"Besides," Salveson continued. "We need to gather more intelligence on Ming's forces before we launch a counter-attack. Shooting down a couple of his rocketships isn't going to stop this invasion. When we hit Ming, it has to be someplace that's going to hurt that devilish bastard."

"Your friend is right, Flash." Zarkov laid a hand on Flash's shoulder. "We have already accomplished much in saving The President. This is a good time to collect ourselves. We will need all our strength if we are to defeat Ming."

Flash exhaled a long breath and nodded. "Yeah, you're right, Doc. And honestly, I'm famished."

"Same here," Dale added.

"Come on. I'll take you to the mess hall." Salverson waved them to follow.

"So how's the food here?" asked Flash.

"Not as bad as some other places where we were stationed."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"It's the Army. You're not gonna get prime rib and scallop potatoes."

It turned out Salverson was right. The food at this mess hall wasn't as bad as at some of his other postings. Flash devoured three ham sandwiches – the ham felt a bit tough, but tasted okay – and two cups of lukewarm vegetable soup. He capped off the late lunch with a couple of Oreo cookies.

Dale, meanwhile, took occasional bites of her sandwich and stared at the walls.

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" asked Flash.

"Just thinking about what's happening out there. Here we are eating sandwiches and drinking coffee while cities are burning and people are dying, both on Earth and on Mongo. I just want to be out there, doing something about it."

"I know, so do I. We'll get our shot, and we'll beat Ming. We've been through worse situations than this."

Dale held his gaze. "I'm hard pressed to think of any."

Flash didn't respond. The truth was, he was also hard pressed to think of any.

Once they finished eating, a corporal sent by Salverson escorted them to their temporary quarters. Dale shared a room with Marguerite, while Flash and Zarkov bunked together. There wasn't much to their room. Two cots, two dressers, two small desks and two rickety wooden chairs.

Flash kicked off his boots and laid down. He closed his eyes, images of Washington in flames playing in his mind. The mental scene switched to Mongo. He thought of Barin, Thun, Vultan and Aura. Were they all right? Had they made any progress against Ming's robowarriors?

Lord, he hated this not knowing.

Sleep soon overtook Flash.

Someone pounded on the door. Flash's eyes snapped open. He leaped off the cot. Across from him, Zarkov shifted and moaned in his cot.

Flash opened the door. Colonel Salveson stood in front of him.

"What is it?" asked Flash.

"Remember when I said we need to hit Ming someplace where it'll hurt?"

"Yeah."

A small smile formed on Salverson's lips. "I think we just found it."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Greta Garbo was a major Hollywood starlet and sex symbol during the 1930s._


	7. Chapter 7

"Where did you get these?" Flash stared at the photographs spread out on the conference table.

"The Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff," answered a tall, balding, round-faced man with a small mustache. Doctor Robert Goddard, who, with the exception of Zarkov, probably knew more about rocketry than anyone on Earth. "One of the pilots here flew a biplane to Flagstaff and had the scientists there sweep the sky with their telescope."

"And he made it there and back without getting shot down by one of Ming's ships?" Dale sounded shocked.

"As far as we know, Ming hasn't attacked any places in New Mexico or Arizona," Salverson explained.

"That won't last long." This from a man with graying hair and a large belly. General Andrew Logan, commander of U.S. Army Air Corps Rocket Base Roswell. "This is the first wave we're facing. Ming's forces are probably concentrating on large cities and major military bases. But sooner or later, we'll see them here."

"Perhaps not, if we can knock that thing out of the sky." Roosevelt pointed to one of the photos. It showed a large spherical object with several thin rods extending from it.

"Those could be some kind of antennas." Zarkov tapped one of the rods. "They might be the source of the anti-radio wave field. Or perhaps it is how they are relying orders to the robowarriors."

"So basically," said General Logan, "what we have here is the enemy flagship."

"Ship would not be the appropriate term here," Goddard corrected him. "From the images and calculations made by the scientists at Lowell, the object is in a stationary orbit ten thousand miles above the Earth's surface. At no time was engine exhaust observed from the object. It's more of an artificial satellite than a ship."

"But it still must be important to Ming if Zarkov is right about those being antennas," said Flash.

"So if we destroy this satellite," Roosevelt nodded to the photograph, "or even damage it, we might be able to communicate with our armed forces and other world leaders and organize a counter-attack against Ming."

"There is also a possibility we can stop Ming's robowarriors in their tracks," added Zarkov.

"How so?" asked Logan.

"I am certain there is a signal controlling all the robowarriors. If we can locate it and destroy it, that should neutralize them all."

"What if it doesn't? What if those tin cans were built to act on their own?" Logan paused in thought. "Well, to a certain extent. They would still have to follow orders from the top, like any flesh and blood soldier."

Zarkov shook his head. "Ming does not like independent thought in people. He certainly would not want it in a weapon like the robowarriors. No, he will want complete control over them."

"So that satellite is where they're receiving all their commands from?" Salverson stated.

Zarkov stroked his salt and pepper beard in thought. "I believe it is more like a relay station for the primary control signal back on Mongo."

"So if we destroy it," said Dale, "we might stop the robowarriors here on Earth, but not on Mongo."

"Most likely, no." Zarkov turned to her. "But if we stop Ming's forces on Earth, we can return to Mongo to aid Prince Barin and the others in their fight."

"Then I say we blow that thing to pieces," said Flash. "Doc, any idea how long it will take to repair the _Defender?"_

"Working around the clock, I estimate it will take four days."

"Four days?" blurted General Logan. "We can't wait that long."

"Look at those dots around the satellite." Flash stabbed his index finger at different sections of the photograph. "Those have to be Deathstalkers guarding the satellite. The _Defender_ is the only rocketship we have with a chance of getting through them and knocking out that satellite." He looked at Goddard. "No offense to your ships, Doctor."

"None taken, Captain Gordon. Even I realize the _Constitution_ and _Freedom _are nowhere near as advanced as any of Ming's rockets. Still, I have to agree with General Logan. We can't allow the robowarriors' rampage to continue unchecked for four days."

"Four days from now we could have robowarriors overrunning this base," said Logan. "We have to knock out that satellite now, with whatever's available to us. And right now, the only rocketships we have available are _Constitution _and _Freedom."_

"Mister President?" Flash turned to Roosevelt, a pleading tone in his voice.

The President sat quietly for several, thoughtful seconds. He drew a breath and spoke. "I respect your concerns, Captain Gordon, but should we wait four days for you to repair _Defender_, the death and destruction committed by Ming's forces in that time could be immeasurable. If there is a chance to stop it, or at the very least, curb it, we must act on it." He looked at Logan. "General, how long will it take to launch your rocketships?"

"We can have them in the air in three hours."

"Then do so."

"Yes, Mister President."

The meeting broke up. While most everyone filed out of the conference room, Flash remained in place, fists balled and pressed against the table.

"You look concerned."

Flash looked up at Salverson. "I understand the President's thinking, but we'd have a much better shot at destroying that satellite with the _Defender."_

"I agree. We'd also have a better chance if we had a hundred rocketships like _Defender_, or if your Robin Hood pal on Mongo sent some of his rocketships to help. But we don't have that. We only have what we have."

"Which are two rocketships that look like museum pieces next to Ming's ships."

"I know that."

Flash's jaw stiffened. A few seconds passed before he spoke. "I hate to say this, Colonel, but the phrase, 'suicide mission' is going through my mind."

Salverson grunted. "I read that interview you gave to _Time _magazine about your exploits on Mongo. You've had your share of suicide missions. You obviously came through 'em in one piece."

"I was lucky."

"Then maybe I should hug you, get some of that luck to rub off on me."

Flash couldn't help but grin.

Salverson stepped over to him. "We all know the risks that come with this uniform. If we have to lay down our lives in defense of this country, or in this case, the world, then that's what we'll do."

Flash forced himself to nod. He thought back to what Zarkov had told him and Dale on their first trip to Mongo. "It is a rational transaction. One life for millions."

He just prayed his friend could save those millions without giving his life.

"Good luck." Flash stuck out his hand, which Salverson shook.

"Thanks. Just think, if I pull this off, Ming'll have another man from Earth to be pissed off at. It'll take some heat off of you."

"I wouldn't mind that." Flash grinned.

"Well, I better go get my crew ready and make sure those rocketships are ready to fly."

Salverson headed for the door.

"Colonel," Flash called to him.

"Yes?"

"Don't try to dogfight those Deathstalkers. They're a hell of a lot more maneuverable than your rockets. Also, don't try to sneak up on them from behind. Their electro-scanners will pick you up in an instant. Avoid them if you can, but if you have to fight 'em, try to hit them in the belly. They don't have any weapons there, and their armor is weaker there."

Salverson nodded. "I'll bear that in mind. Thanks, Captain."

Flash watched his friend exit the room, hoping his advice would improve his odds of returning to Roswell.

**XXXXX**

Flash stood quietly in the control room, staring out the thick glass windows at _Constitution _and _Freedom _on their launch pads. He barely noticed the others around him. Dale, Zarkov, President Roosevelt, Harry Hopkins, Marguerite, Agents Daniels and Knott, General Logan and Doctor Goddard. About the only thing he did take note of was a pudgy, balding sergeant sitting at one of the consoles, speaking into a microphone.

"Open launch doors. Repeat, open launch doors."

The ceiling above the rocketships separated and slid away from one another. No light filtered through the opening. The clock above the consoles read 2117, or 9:18 p.m. for civilians.

"Three minutes and counting to launch," the sergeant announced.

Flash focused on the nose of the _Constitution, _where Salverson sat. Very soon he would be hurtling toward space and attempt to lay his bombs on that satellite. Could he do it in that rocket? Did he even have a chance against Ming's ships?

_Have faith. Salverson will find a way._

He kept repeating those words, hoping he would come to believe them.

"One minute and counting to launch."

Flash felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Dale next to him, the expression on her beautiful face switching between anxiousness and worry.

A rumble came from the launch pads. Bright red sparks spat from the engines of both _Constitution _and _Freedom._

"Thirty seconds and counting to launch."

The sparks turned into a rush of fire.

"Twenty seconds and counting to launch."

The rumble turned into a roar. Flash took hold of Dale's hand.

"Ten, nine, eight, sev-"

_Constitution _vanished in a ball of fire. Moments later, _Freedom _also exploded.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	8. Chapter 8

"Geddown!"

Flash grabbed Dale and threw her to the floor.

The thunderous roar of the explosions mixed with the shattering of glass. Flash covered Dale with his body. The control room felt like the inside of an oven. Shards of glass rained down on his back.

The noise subsided. Flash lifted his head. The rank smell of smoke wafted past his nostrils.

"You okay, Dale?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Doc!"

"I am fine, thank you." Zarkov pushed himself off the floor. A couple of trickles of blood ran down his left cheek. Other than that, he had no serious wounds.

Flash looked around the control room. The window was gone. Thousands of glass splinters covered the floor, sparkling from the overhead lights. He clenched his jaw when he saw the pudgy sergeant who'd been counting down the launch. He laid on his side, blood flowing from his head and neck. Not far away was General Logan, on his back, his face and throat shredded.

He spotted Goddard on the other side of the control room, propped up against the wall. Blood covered his right ear. He grimaced when he touched the wound.

President Roosevelt appeared unhurt, both Agents Daniels and Knott having blanketed him with their bodies. Aside from a few cuts to the face, Hopkins, too, came through the explosion fine.

Flash got to his feet, Dale next to him. She put a hand against her chest. "Oh my God."

Flash said nothing, just stared at the inferno that consumed the launch pads. Here and there he spotted twisted, burning chunks of metal, all that remained of the _Constitution _and _Freedom._

All that remained of Salverson.

Flash's head trembled. Anger swelled inside him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. His old friend was dead, and Earth's most advanced weapons had been destroyed before they could even lift off.

**XXXXX**

"How could this have happened?" Roosevelt stared at the people sitting around the conference table. "How could those rockets just explode like that?"

"We still don't have an answer to that, Mister President," replied a stocky soldier with short blond hair. Colonel Watkins, the base's executive officer.

_Now commanding officer, _Flash reminded himself, since General Logan was dead.

"None of our sentries up top saw any enemy rocketships or ray beams," Watkins continued.

"Well rocketships don't just blow up for no reason," said Hopkins. "Maybe they suffered some sort of malfunction."

"At the exact same time? No." Dr. Goddard shook his ear, a large bandage covering his right ear. "Both _Constitution _and _Freedom _received daily inspections. All their systems were in working order. This couldn't have been an accident."

"Sounds to me like you're suggesting sabotage," said Flash.

"What other explanation is there?"

Colonel Watkins snorted. "I can't believe one of our own people would betray us like that."

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Dale. "Look at Benedict Arnold during the Revolutionary War."

"True, Miss Arden, but at least Arnold had the decency, for lack of a better word, to sell us out to a human enemy."

"Technically, the people of Mongo are human," Zarkov noted. "Remember, the Mongonoids are the decedents of human beings abducted by aliens over fifteen hundred years ago. We also know, thanks to records retrieved from Ming's palace, that ships from Mongo have been spying on Earth as far back as the 1830s."

"It wouldn't take much of an effort to go from simply spying on us from orbit to infiltrating agents," Flash added.

"Which means it would do no good to draw blood or x-ray every person at this base," said Zarkov. "Because even though they come from another planet, there is no way to tell a Mongo-born human apart from an Earth-born human."

"Luckily, there are other ways to find out if one of Ming's damn spies are here. Excuse me." Watkins rose and strode over to the door. He opened it and ordered the secretary outside to fetch Sergeant Bishop. Five minutes later, the portly sergeant who led the security detail that met Flash's group when they arrived at Roswell appeared.

"Sergeant, it appears we have a saboteur on this base. I want a thorough search made of everyone's quarters. No exceptions. Search my quarters, too. If you or your men find anything suspicious, report it to me directly."

"Yes, Sir." Bishop saluted and headed off.

"We should also post more guards around Captain Gordon's rocketship," suggested Roosevelt. "With the _Constitution _and _Freedom _destroyed, it's the only craft we have that can take on Ming's ships."

"What if one of the soldiers guarding _Defender_ is our saboteur?" Dale pointed out. "We could have the proverbial wolf watching the henhouse."

"I doubt Ming would put more than one infiltrator here," said Flash. "Even if he does draw guard duty, he won't try anything with two or three other guards around him."

"I hope you're right."

_So do I_, Flash thought but didn't say.

"We also have to get The President away from here," said Agent Daniels. "He'd make a very tempting target for any saboteur."

"I'll arrange transport immediately," Watkins offered. "I recommend going to the state militia base in Albuquerque. You should be safe there, Mister President."

Roosevelt nodded just as someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," stated Watkins.

A skinny lieutenant with black hair entered. Flash recognized him as the officer in charge of the base's radio room.

"What is it, Lieutenant Holt?" asked Watkins.

"Sir, it's the radio. It's on again."

Everyone at the table sat up straighter.

Watkins quickly regained his composure. "When did this happen?"

"Just a couple of minutes ago."

"Can you pick up any news broadcasts?" asked Goddard. "Do we know what's happening in other parts of the world?"

"No. We're getting a broadcast, but it's . . . well, it's not normal."

"Explain," Watkins demanded.

Holt shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Um, Sir, I think it'd be easier if I showed you."

Watkins nodded and followed Holt. Flash and the others joined them. When they reached the open door of the radio room, Watkins paused, mouth agape.

"Great Scott," he muttered.

Flash walked over to him and looked inside. His eyes widened at the sight.

A beam of green light emerged from the radio set. A man in the dark gold tunic and Romanesque-style helmet of a Ming soldier floated in the middle of the room.

Watkins went for his pistol.

"Don't bother, Colonel." Flash grabbed his arm.

"What the hell are you talking about? How did that man get into my base?"

"That's just it, Sir. He's here, but he's not." Holt waved his arm through the image of the Ming soldier.

"It's what is known as a hologram," said Zarkov, who was looking over Flash's shoulder. "A life-like image made of pure light."

"Attention people of Earth," the holographic solider spoke. "You are to gather around your radio sets and await an announcement by his majesty, Ming the Merciless."

The soldier repeated the message over and over.

"How are they doing this?" Watkins wondered aloud.

Zarkov answered, "With the advanced technology of Mongo, it is easy for them to transmit a signal through our radios."

Flash kept staring at the hologram as it kept repeating its words. To his surprise, he felt no anxiousness, no fear. Why should he? He had a damn good idea what that murdering SOB was going to say.

He endured another ten minutes of the hologram's blabbering before Ming's face appeared. Now Flash's full fury rose to the surface. He fought the urge to take a swing at that devilish face. Ming wouldn't feel it. It also wouldn't bring back all those who died in the first wave of the invasion.

It wouldn't bring back Salverson.

"People of Earth," Ming began. "For too long you have defied my will. Today, your defiance ends."

Flash tensed as Ming continued. "Over a millennia ago, my ancestors were snatched from their birthplace on Earth and made subjects of an alien race. But they overthrew their masters, utilized their technology and forged the greatest empire the universe has ever seen. Yet, what have you done in that time? Nothing! You lack the courage, the intelligence, the will to rise to greatness. You need a strong hand to give purpose to your meaningless lives. You need the hand of Ming the Merciless."

Flash scowled. He knew Ming wasn't interested in giving the people of Earth purpose. He just wanted them as slaves.

_Or he wants us turned into ash._

"You may think your armaments are powerful, when you use them on your fellow Earthmen," said Ming. "But they are nothing compared to my rocket fleet and my army of robowarriors. See for yourself."

Ming's image vanished. It was replaced by the sea of fire that engulfed Washington DC.

Other images followed. New York in flames, the Statue of Liberty lying face down in the water. London in ruin, Big Ben blown in half. Annihilator-class dreadnaughts soaring over Mount Fuji and bombarding Tokyo. Over a hundred robowarriors marching through the _Arc de Triomphe_ in Paris.

Ming's face returned. Again, Flash wanted to punch it.

"You cannot stand against my power. Once I have ended this broadcast, I will lift the anti-radio wave field over the Earth to give the leaders of your world twenty-four hours to make preparations for your unconditional surrender. My demands are as followed. All documents pertaining to your legal system are to be burned. From now on, there is no law on Earth except Ming's law. You will arrange to have your soldiers assemble in your largest public areas to discard their weapons so they may be destroyed by my robowarriors. Your warplanes are to be left on their runways, and your warships are to be abandoned, so they may all be destroyed by my rocketships. And finally, you will surrender the Earthman, Flash Gordon, and his companions, Dale Arden and Doctor Hans Zarkov, so they may stand trial and be executed for crimes against my rule. Do this, and Earth shall become a domain of Mongo, and all of you, my subjects. Defy me, and my forces will turn your world into a charred wasteland, and any of you who survive will be sent to the radioactive mines on Mongo. You have twenty-four hours to decide."

With that, Ming's image vanished from the radio room.

Holt swallowed. "Holy . . . Wha-What are we gonna do?"

"Well I'll be damned if I'm gonna surrender to that maniac." Watkins looked to Roosevelt. "Right, Mister President?"

"It is not in America's nature to bow to the will of tyrants. Even though our situation is desperate, I intend to resist Emperor Ming to my last breath."

"And so will I, Mister President," said Flash. "You can count on it."

"Same here," Dale added, with Zarkov nodding.

"I had no doubt about that. But despite your past success against Ming, I fear what lies ahead will require the efforts of more than just the three of you."

"We had had help from plenty of others to defeat Ming in the past," said Flash. "Unfortunately, all those people are on Mongo."

Roosevelt grinned. "Have no fear, Captain Gordon. I know where you can find more help right here on Earth."

"Where?"

"Tell me. Are you familiar with a man named William Donovan?"

Flash shook his head. "Sorry, Mister President. I can't say that I am."

"Interesting man, Donovan. Highly decorated officer during The Great War, former US Attorney, ran for Governor of New York a few years ago. Also traveled extensively abroad. He's provided me with some very insightful observations about the state of the world."

Roosevelt let out a slow breath and continued. "Ming is not the only threat facing this country, facing free men everywhere. Germany is becoming more aggressive with each passing day. Japan has conquered whole regions of China, and seems poised to do the same to the entire Pacific Ocean. Even that Stalin fellow in Russia concerns me. Given all these threats, Donovan came up with an idea. Should we face another conflict on the scale of The Great War, he proposed gathering a group of men, much like yourself, Captain Gordon. Men of exceptional courage, skill and daring. Men who have built a reputation on achieving the impossible, on more than one occasion."

Aided by Daniels and Knott, President Roosevelt stepped closer to Gordon. "Let me tell you about the Defenders of Freedom Initiative."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_William Donovan led the Office of Strategic Services, or OSS during World War II. The OSS was the predecessor to the CIA._

_The Great War refers to World War I._


	9. Chapter 9

"_Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!" Introduction to "The Shadow" radio program of the 1930s._

* * *

Kent Allard, aka The Shadow, barely breathed as he crouched in the darkness of the alley. For the briefest of moments, a sense of unease swept through him. In all his years prowling through New York in his war on evil, he had grown accustomed to the drone of car engines and the honks of their horns, the nasally wail of sirens from police cars and fire engines, the click and thump of footfalls and the constant chatter of the countless inhabitants. Those noises had become familiar to him, reassuring even. It let him know there was some sense of normalcy to the world.

He heard none of those noises this night. They were replaced by the crackling of flames, the groan of rocketships circling overhead and the metallic stomps of these metalmen.

_Metalmen._ It took The Shadow more mental discipline than he'd care to admit to curb his frustration. Against normal men, he could use his hypnotic powers to cloud their minds. He could use his very appearance, his dark cape and hat, the red scarf that covered his face, leaving only his dark eyes visible, to strike fear into their hearts.

All that proved useless against the metalmen, or robowarriors as Ming the Merciless called them. Their minds likely consisted of wires. As for fear, they could experience as much fear as your average garbage can.

_Even machines have weaknesses. I just have to find them._

He peered around the corner. Six robowarriors marched through a nearby intersection, their movements more in synch than those of the most well-drilled human soldiers.

The Shadow waited until the robowarriors were out of sight before leaning further out from the alley. He checked left, then right, then above. All clear.

He dashed across the street, a street much darker than normal. No lights shone in any nearby windows. All the streetlights were out.

_They probably destroyed the power stations._

Not that he considered it a problem. Darkness had long been his ally. Now he had more of it to hide in.

The Shadow made it to the subway entrance. He hurried down the steps, making the gentlest of footfalls. When he reached the bottom, he looked left and right. Deserted. This, too, proved somewhat unsettling. The subway usually teemed with people, be it day or night.

Not tonight.

He kept to the darkest parts of the tunnel, moving as naturally as a normal man would in daylight. Somewhere nearby he heard squeaks and skittering. Rats. They didn't concern him. Rats couldn't hurt him.

Robowarriors could.

The Shadow continued on for another mile before coming to a platform. Ambient light leaked down from stairwell, probably the glow of fires up top. A lean figure with a round face and receding hair stood a couple of feet from the stairwell. He had his back to the wall, checking all around him, a revolver in his hand. The Shadow frowned. He'd seen police officers use revolvers on the robowarriors, and shotguns and Tommy Guns. None of them so much as scratched their metal hides.

The robowarriors' ray guns, however, had no trouble going through human flesh.

The man still didn't see him.

"Donovan," The Shadow called out.

Donovan whirled toward him, pistol up. He relaxed as The Shadow walked toward him.

"Jeez, Shadow. You should know better than to sneak up on someone when the whole world's gone to hell."

"Sorry." He looked down at the M-1917 Colt .45 ACP in William Donovan's hand. "You know that won't do a thing against the robowarriors."

"I know, but I'd feel naked in a war zone without a gun."

The Shadow stared at the darkened ceiling, thinking of the streets above. "New York a war zone. Who could have imagined?"

"I did, in my worst nightmares." Donovan took a breath. "So, what did you find out in your recon?"

"I counted twenty-seven rocketships over the city. I saw no sign of organized resistance, only many dead police officers. The robowarriors also have the Holland Tunnel blocked off."

"It's probably the same story at the Lincoln Tunnel and all the bridges into and out of Manhattan."

"I agree." The Shadow nodded. "Did you learn anything?"

"Yeah. The phones still don't work. I snuck into a few places to make calls. Nothing. Those tin cans probably took out the switchboards. I did overhear a few things out of some radios I passed. It sounds like Washington's in worse shape than New York."

"The President?"

"I don't know," said Donovan. "I hope he got out. But it sounds like most of the world's major cities are under siege. I also heard the Navy launched some planes from Floyd Bennett Field. They all got shot down. Like biplanes would stand a chance against alien rocketships."

"So, we're trapped on a concrete island with no way to fight these robowarriors, except perhaps for these." The Shadow pulled out a few vials of acid from his belt. "If these can burn through locks on safes, they should burn through a robowarrior. But I only have enough to disable a handful. That will not stop this invasion."

"Not by a longshot. We need to find The President and start putting together the Defenders of Freedom Initiative."

"What if President Roosevelt is no longer alive?" asked The Shadow. "What if the other men on you list are dead?"

"Then we find other men. We build up a resistance group and we fight that bastard Ming until we beat him or he kills us."

The Shadow said nothing. Donovan gave voice to his own sentiments. He was convinced more than ever that he had chosen wisely to make the Great War veteran an ally in his war against evil.

"We need to find a boat," said The Shadow. "Something small that Ming's rocketships won't notice. And we must sail at night."

"Of course we must. That's your style, after all." Donovan cracked a grin. "Let's make for the piers at Battery Park. We should be able to find something there, unless those rocketships or robowarriors blew up everything that can float."

"If need be, we will cross the bay in a barrel."

Donovan nodded. "Whatever it takes. Come on. We better get crackin'. With all the sneaking around we'll have to do, it's going to take us a while to make our way south to the park."

"I'll lead the way." The Shadow turned and peered around the corner.

That's when he heard the heavy, metallic footfalls of the robowarriors.

Two of them walked right up to the entrance to the subway station.

"Back!" The Shadow warned in a harsh whisper. He backed up and put his arm across Donovan's chest, forcing him against the wall.

"Robowarriors?" asked Donovan.

The Shadow nodded.

"Do you think they saw us?"

An electric crackle ripped through the air. A lightning bolt blew out a chunk of the corner of the wall.

"Definiately," answered The Shadow.

Donovan brought up his Colt, then sneered and lowered it. "Damn." He knew the gun wouldn't do anything against the robowarriors.

The Shadow pulled more acid vials from his belt, clutching them in both hands. Back to the wall, he concentrated on the heavy footsteps as they pounded down the stairs. Closer . . . closer . . .

A large, rectangular silhouette marched into view. Another robowarrior was right next to it.

The Shadow spun around. The vials flew out of his hands.

"Get down!" he shouted and threw himself flat on the ground. The vials shattered. He heard a sizzling sound.

The Shadow rolled on his back. Smoke wafted from the "faces" of the robowarriors. They rocked back and forth. Their legs wobbled. One fired its ray gun. The bolt exploded against the wall on the other side of the tracks.

One robowarrior fell backward, then the other. The crashes echoed through the tunnel. The stench of scorched metal hung in the air.

"Nice going." Donovan pushed himself to his feet. "That acid did the trick."

"Yes it did." The Shadow felt around his belt. "Unfortunately, it seems I only have three vials left."

"That doesn't matter now. Thanks to you, we've got our own ray guns."

Donovan holstered his Colt and bent down to retrieve one of the rifle-sized ray guns.

More metallic footsteps came from above. The Shadow looked up.

Four robowarriors descended the steps.

"Look out!" he shouted.

Donovan saw the robowarriors. He snatched up a ray gun and dropped to one knee.

The robowarriors all brought up their weapons.

Buzzes and crackles filled the air. The Shadow held his breath, waiting for bolts to sear him and Donovan.

Instead, sparks and flames erupted from the backs of the robowarriors. They staggered and fell, tumbling down the steps. Donovan jumped out of the way as the four smoldering metal soldiers crashed in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Everyone all right down there?"

A muscular, athletic man around six feet tall with blond hair hurried down the steps, clutching a pistol-sized ray gun. Behind him were three American soldiers, all of them carrying weapons similar to the robowarriors'. The Shadow studied the man's face. Even in the darkness of the subway station, he easily recognized him from newspapers and newsreels.

"Flash Gordon?" Donovan took a hesitant step forward, as though not believing the man who had saved Earth from Ming the Merciless not once, but twice, stood before him.

Flash Gordon approached Donovan, moving his head forward, obviously trying to adjust his eyes to the dark. "Are you Colonel William Donovan?"

"I am. Pleasure to meet you, Captain." Donovan shook Flash's hand as The Shadow stood. The three soldiers eyed him nervously. He tended to have that affect on people, both good ones and evildoers.

"Actually," Donovan continued, "I should say lucky to meet you. If you hadn't have come by when you did, we would've been burnt to a crisp." His brow furrowed. "How do you know my name?" A pause. "Did President Roosevelt send you?"

"He did. He's safe at the rocket base in New Mexico. That's where these boys are from." Flash nodded to the soldiers.

"Thank God for that. I assume he told you of my Defenders of Freedom Initiative."

"He did," replied Flash. "You can definitely count me in. We need all the help we can get."

"You're right about that." Donovan turned his gaze to the ceiling for a few moments. "It's fortunate you found me, especially with an alien army attacking the city."

"The President gave me your home address and your business address. I figured you'd hole up somewhere near one of them while Ming's fleet pounded the city. No better place for that than a subway station."

"Maybe not for long. Those robowarriors might have radioed their headquarters about us. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they radios built right into them."

"You're probably right." Flash raised his left wrist and spoke into a bracelet. "Dale, it's Flash. We found both of them. Home in on my signal. We'll be waiting."

"I'll be there soon," a tinny female voice came from the bracelet. "Take care."

Flash lowered his hand and looked over at The Shadow. He walked up to him.

"So you must be The Shadow."

"I am."

"A pleasure to meet you." Flash extended his hand, which The Shadow shook. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I am also familiar with your exploits."

"Well, given what The President told me, it looks like we'll be working together."

The Shadow nodded. "I would consider it an honor. That madman Ming has much to answer for." He turned to the stairwell, thinking of the burning ruins of New York City – his city – above. "And I will gladly do my part to make him pay."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	10. Chapter 10

_I must be outta my mind._

Dick Tracy glanced at the large man with black hair and a sagging face squatting next to him behind the car. Big Boy Caprice. How many times had this gangster tried to kill him? How many times had he threatened or kidnapped his girlfriend, Tess Trueheart?

Yet here he was, working with this slime.

Tracy looked out at the darkened, rubble-strewn street. Some buildings had large holes in them. Others were burned out. A few had collapsed. Most streets in Chicago looked like this.

Hence the reason Tracy was forced to work with one of his greatest foes.

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

No, not friend. An ally, and not an ally he trusted at all. He did have to give Big Boy a tiny bit of credit. The SOB did have the brains to know that Ming's forces didn't discriminate between cops and hoods. They were all fair game in this city turned shooting gallery. They had called a truce in order to fight for the city Tracy protected, and that Big Boy wanted to own.

Still, Tracy wouldn't put it past Big Boy to put a bullet in his back while fighting these robowarriors.

"This plan of your better work, Tracy," grumbled Big Boy, his sausage-like fingers drumming the side of the box-like TNT detonator. "All that dynamite cost me big bucks."

"It'll work. Trust me."

"Ha! Trust a cop? Especially you? Fat chance. The only reason I'm working with you is because you'll just put me in jail. Those walking garbage cans would shoot me and not bother yelling, 'Hands up.' Oh yeah, they also blew up a lot of my gambling joints and brothels, and a bunch of businesses who pay for my 'protection services.' They're costin' me more money than you cops ever did."

"My heart bleeds for you, Big Boy."

The gangster scowled at Tracy.

He ignored it and slid his solid, six-one frame to the edge of the trunk. He peered around it. Three men crouched behind a building at the intersection. Mike Clifton, one of his fellow detectives, a beat cop named Lyons and one of Big Boy's thugs. Tracy watched them, his square-jawed features stiffening. When would some of those robowarriors come by? They'd had to dodge many of their patrols since the invasion began. Some would have to come by here soon.

_It'll happen when it happens._

Nothing happened for about ten minutes, expect Big Boy complaining about everything under the sun.

_Or the Moon, since it's night._

Orange muzzle flashes went off near the corner building. A split second later Tracy heard the cracks of gunfire. Clifton, Lyons and the thug – Frey was his name – hurried down the sidewalk, jumping over a couple pieces of debris. The trio ran to the car and ducked behind it.

"There's about six of them, Tracy," reported Clifton. "We got their attention good."

"Good work, Mike." Tracy slapped his shoulder, then looked to Big Boy. "You ready?"

Big Boy grunted. "If this doesn't work, don't put on my tombstone that I croaked working with the cops. I'll never live it down."

Tracy cracked a half-grin, then looked at the intersection. The six robowarriors came into view. Weapons raised, they marched down the street.

"Wait." Tracy held up a hand. Big Boy had his hands wrapped around the plunger.

Tracy held his breath, watching the robowarriors continue their march down the street. Their metal footsteps echoed off the ruined buildings around them. Tracy's eyes flickered from one little pile of debris to another, where they'd hidden sticks of Big Boy's dynamite. Dynamite he would have used to blow open bank vaults.

_At least they're being put to a better use now._

"Wait," Tracy said again.

"How long do I gotta wait?" hissed Big Boy. "Till they're standing on my shoes?"

Tracy ignored the comment, instead looking from the little piles of debris to the line of robowarriors.

"Now!"

Big Boy pushed down the plunger.

The explosions rocked the street. Gushers of flame, asphalt and concrete shot into the air. A rain of debris pelted the car, and Tracy, and everyone else around him.

He counted to ten, then looked over the roof of the car. Ears still ringing from the blasts, he stared down the pockmarked street. The dust and smoke began to settle.

Tracy breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the wreckage of all six robowarriors lying amidst the ruin.

"Got 'em." He clenched a fist in triumph.

"Good. Now how's about we scram." Big Boy nodded to the fallen robowarriors. "Their buddies probably heard those explosions and are on their way here."

"In a minute." Tracy dashed out from behind the car.

"Tracy, where're ya goin'?" Clifton called out.

Tracy didn't answer. His eyes swept over the street and the robowarriors. Many of them had been blown to smoldering pieces. He also noticed their ray guns. Every one of them lay twisted and broken.

_Damn. _He would have loved to have gotten his hands on a couple of those guns. That would've given them a little more of an advantage over the robowarriors. But the thought of Big Boy having one of those weapons gave Tracy pause. When this war was over – and provided they all survived – he couldn't see the gangster giving up such a weapon so easily. Big Boy armed with a Tommy Gun was bad enough. Big Boy armed with a ray gun . . . that would give him nightmares.

He moved through the rubble, glancing toward the intersection. Much as he hated to admit it, Big Boy had a good point. Other robowarriors probably heard the explosions. He didn't think it would be long before more showed up.

He stopped and looked down at the severed head of a robowarrior, dented and scorched. Tracy grinned and picked it up. The thing was just a little heavier than a bowling ball. No trouble for a man who hit the weights at least four times a week.

Tracy hurried back to the car. Big Boy raised an eyebrow, staring at the robowarrior head.

"You gonna hang that on the wall of your office?"

"What I plan to do is get this to someone in the Army, or a scientist. We need to find out what makes these things tick, see what their weaknesses are."

Big Boy grunted. "I'd rather have one of those ray guns."

"I'm sure you would."

Tracy, Big Boy and the others took off down the street. They hugged walls and crouched behind debris. Once they had to hide when a robowarrior patrol appeared. Thankfully, they didn't see them.

The group made it two more blocks before the nasally buzz of a rocketship sounded overhead.

"In there!" Tracy, still clutching the head, ran toward a burned out building. The others followed him inside. Tracy crouched below a shattered window, along with Big Boy and Clifton. Officer Lyons and Frey ducked beneath the blown out window next to them.

The rocketship hovered over the street. A spotlight snapped on. Its beam played over the rubble-strewn street and the scarred buildings.

"Great," grumbled Big Boy. "Ming's gang sent a damn rocketship after us."

"That's not all they sent." Lyons pointed to his right.

Both Tracy and Big Boy looked down at the other end of the street.

They saw ten robowarriors.

"Wonderful. Just wonderful." Big Boy turned to Tracy, sneering. "I knew I never shoulda teamed up with you. Now you're gonna get me killed."

"If it's any consolation, Big Boy, I'm gonna get killed right alongside you."

"No, it's not any consolation. 'Cause I won't be around to enjoy you gettin' turned into burnt toast."

Tracy gave him a half-grin. He peeked over the window frame. They had no more dynamite. Their guns were useless. All they could do was hide, pray and hope that –

Ray beams shot from the rocketship.

"What the hell?" blurted Clifton.

The beams slashed into the approaching robowarriors. They practically disintegrated. Only severed legs and feet remained of the metal soldiers.

"I don't get it." Frey scratched his head. "Why would they blow up their own guys?"

"Don't know, don't care," Big Boy replied. "Just glad they did."

The rocketship landed. A ramp extended from the side. A man stepped out holding a ray gun.

_One of Ming's flesh and blood soldiers? _Tracy wondered. The man looked about Tracy's size and height, but with blond hair instead of black. Even though the rocketship's spotlight wasn't pointed at him, enough of its glow reached the man that Tracy thought he looked familiar.

"Whoa!" Lyons blurted. "Check out the dame."

Sure enough, an attractive blond woman stepped out of the ship.

"If that's one'a Ming's warriors, I'll gladly surrender to her." Frey licked his palm and slicked back his thinning hair.

"That dame's not gonna be interested in you," said Clifton.

"Yeah, and how would you know, copper?"

"'Cause I've seen her before in some magazines. I don't believe it, but it's really her."

"Who?" asked Lyons.

"Dale Arden," replied Clifton. "The lady pilot, and Flash Gordon's gal."

Tracy continued to watch as the pair made their way down the ramp. No wonder the man looked familiar to him. Flash Gordon's face had been on everything from pulp magazines to newsreels over the past three years.

Other people emerged from the rocketship. Three American soldiers and a middle-aged man.

"Well, at least we know they're on our side. Come on."

Tracy led the others outside. Flash, Dale and the soldiers brought up their guns when they emerged.

"Don't shoot! Detective Dick Tracy, Chicago PD."

Flash and the others lowered their weapons. He jumped off the ramp and bounded toward Tracy. The middle-age man followed.

"Glad to meet you, Detective," said Flash. "We've been looking for you."

"Really? I'd think you'd have more pressing matters than looking for one cop in this town . . . or what's left of it."

"Don't sell yourself short, Detective," the middle-aged man spoke. "Your efforts to make the streets of Chicago safer are known from coast to coast." He extended his hand. "William Donovan."

Donovan was about to say something else when Frey gasped. "Holy crap. Is that who I think it is?"

All eyes turned to the ramp. A figure with a dark cape and hat made his way down. While no one had ever taken a picture of the man, Tracy had read enough descriptions of the newcomer to recognize him.

It was the vigilante called The Shadow.

"What's this all about?" Tracy's eyes shifted between Flash Gordon and William Donovan.

"Beating Ming," answered Donovan. "The Army's taking on the chin from these robowarriors. Hell, the armies of every country in the world are taking on the chin. I'm putting together a team of exceptional men to bring this fight to Ming the Merciless, and give us a chance at beating him."

"Sounds like you need soldiers. I'm just a cop."

"If all the stories I've heard about you are even half-true, you're more than _just_ a cop," said Flash. "I take it those explosions nearby were your doing."

Surprise flashed over Tracy's face. "You saw that?"

"Well, we didn't see you specifically do it, but Donovan felt if anyone in Chicago could ambush some robowarriors and blow them up, it'd be you."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Big Boy threw out his arms.

The Shadow stepped closer, his gaze on Big Boy. For some reason, the vigilante's face appeared blurry to Tracy. Word was The Shadow had, "The power to fog men's minds." He'd always thought it a bunch of hogwash. Now . . .

_Maybe there is something to it._

The Shadow turned from Big Boy to Tracy. "Why do you associate with vermin such as this?"

"Hey, watch your mouth, buddy," Big Boy growled.

The Shadow didn't look the least bit intimidated.

"Look around." Tracy waved a hand at the destruction around them. "The whole city's a war zone, and those robowarriors don't care if you're a cop or a criminal. They'll kill you all the same. Only makes sense to team up to fight a common enemy."

"But once this is all over, I go back to trying to kill you." Big Boy pointed to Tracy.

The Shadow just stood there silently. Tracy, unfortunately, couldn't read the man's face to see what he might be thinking.

"Detective Tracy," said Donovan. "Believe me when I say you're more than just a cop. The number of big-time gangsters you've brought to justice, all the rackets you've broken up, all the tight scrapes you've gotten out of. You are an exceptional cop. You're smart like Thomas Edison and you're tough like Jack Dempsey. That robowarrior head in your arms proves it."

"I'm just doing my job."

"Stop being modest. Most people would go for a ray gun. You picked up a robowarrior head. Imagine what someone like Doctor Zarkov can learn from it."

Tracy nodded. "I was hoping to get this to a scientist. From what I've read, Zarkov's one of the best in the world."

"That he is," Flash said with unabashed pride.

"We need a man like you on our team," said Donovan. "You in?"

"Whatever I can do to beat Ming, I'll do it."

"Good."

"Hey!" Big Boy threw up his arms. "What about me?"

Donovan turned to him. "I've seen your face before, on the wanted posters at the post office. Big Boy Caprice, right?"

He smiled wide. "The one and only."

"What about you?"

"Can I join your team?"

Donovan gave him an incredulous look. "No."

Big Boy slapped his sides. "Well ain't that gratitude for you."

"You want my gratitude?" asked Donovan. "Stay here and do what you can to make life miserable for the robowarriors."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to risk my neck for your gratitude? Will your gratitude buy me a new car? A new penthouse? I don't think so. I think I'd be better off hiding out until this whole thing is over."

Donovan stepped toward Big Boy. "Then how about this. If you keep destroying robowarriors for the duration of this war, when it's over, I will grant you a full pardon for all the crimes you've ever committed, and all the crimes you're currently wanted for. You'll have a clean slate."

"You got the pull to do that?"

"I was a deputy assistant to Attorney General Daugherty during the Coolidge Administration and I personally know President Roosevelt. Is that enough pull for you?"

Big Boy bobbed his head from side-to-side. "Yes it is. You want me to blow up tin cans, I'll blow up a million of 'em."

"And we'll keep an eye on him and make sure he sticks to his promise," said Clifton.

Big Boy glowered at the detective.

Tracy nodded. "All right, good luck and be careful."

"We will, Tracy."

"I'm touched by your concern, Tracy." Big Boy put a hand over his head. "Very, very touched."

Tracy narrowed his eyes. There was part of him that wouldn't mind if a robowarrior nailed Big Boy between the eyes with a death ray. But he had to think big picture. The more robowarriors Big Boy took out, the more it would help the overall war effort.

_Hoping Big Boy succeeds at something. Boy, war can be a crazy business._

He had to keep reminding himself that, for now, Big Boy Caprice was an ally. After the war was over, pardons or not, he knew they would settle their personal feud one way or the other.

Gordon followed Flash and Donovan to the rocketship. The Shadow walked next to him. Though he wouldn't admit it, the guy gave him the creeps.

_And I've gone up against some of the toughest, most blood-thirsty gangsters in Chicago._

But not being able to see the man's face, and that getup of his, The Shadow looked more like a hood than a hero. Actually, he looked more like something out of a horror movie than a hero.

"You should not trust Big Boy," The Shadow said. Even his voice sounded inhuman.

"Believe me, I don't."

"Good. Because if it appears Ming the Merciless will win this war, a piece of human garbage like Big Boy will sell his soul to him in exchange for his life. By joining us, you have made yourself an enemy of Ming. A man like Big Boy, no doubt, knows many things about you, things Ming will not hesitate to exploit to try and destroy you."

"Then I guess there's only one way to make sure that doesn't happen." Tracy started up the ramp.

"What is that?"

Tracy stopped and turned to face The Shadow. "By defeating Ming."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Jack Dempsey was an American boxer who held the World Heavyweight Title from 1919-1926._


	11. Chapter 11

"You sure this is gonna work, Sir?"

Lieutenant Commander Crash Corrigan turned away from the coffee can he was tying to the hatch's handle. DeLancey, a lanky gunner's mate from California, gave him a skeptical look. Behind him, a craggy-faced man with the physique of a football linebacker cuffed him upside the head.

"What the hell kind of question is that, DeLancey?" growled Chief Master-at-Arms Miller. "The Skipper always knows what he's doin'."

"It's just basic chemistry." Corrigan tightened the knot around the coffee can. "Flour, baking soda, cooking grease, vinegar. Alone, they're pretty harmless, and help you make a good dinner. Put them together, however, and the different compounds can make a nice little improvised bomb."

"If you say so, Sir. I dropped outta high school. Didn't like all those teachers tellin' me what to do."

Miller grunted. "So you joined the Navy instead, where, of course, no one tells you what to do. You're some kind of genius, DeLancey."

The gunner's mate just lowered his head.

Corrigan grinned at Miller's dig. Behind his confident facade, however, he'd wished he was more of a genius. Maybe he wouldn't have been blindsided by his cowardly executive officer.

The _USS McDougal _and the rest of the destroyer squadron had been plying the waters 50 miles off the coast of Georgia when they lost all radio contact with, well, everything. Corrigan had the men in the radio room go over their equipment with a fine tooth comb, twice. They found nothing wrong. The only conclusion he could draw was some outside force had interfered with their communications.

He found out who an hour later. That's when the rocketships appeared. By sheer daring and luck, Corrigan and his men knocked two of the bullet-shaped craft out of the sky. _McDougal _had not come through the battle unscathed. She'd lost her number four gun mount and suffered damage to the number two torpedo mount, as well as the engines. The destroyer could only manage about 20 knots, and even that was pushing it. Corrigan also lost 43 men out of a crew of 194.

Still, _McDougal _remained afloat. The same couldn't be said for the rest of the destroyer squadron.

That's when the first cracks began to show in his XO, Lieutenant Glenn Grantham. He kept advocating running and hiding. Corrigan would have none of that.

"Americans don't hide when attacked. We fight."

Grantham had responded with a half-hearted, "Aye, Captain."

Then came the radio message from Ming the Merciless, demanding Earth's surrender. That's when Grantham completely lost it.

"We don't stand a chance against him," he declared. "We have to surrender or we're all dead."

Corrigan relieved him on the spot.

He hadn't counted on the fact Grantham would find other sailors just as terrified as him, and together they'd stage a mutiny.

That's how Corrigan came to be locked in the officer's wardroom, along with 20 other men who wanted nothing to do with Grantham. Other crewmen went about their duties under guard or because Grantham was an officer and they'd been conditioned since basic training to obey officers.

Corrigan looked at the concoction in the bucket. He hoped it would blow open the hatch, or at the very least, make the guard outside come in to see what the commotion was all about. Grantham had been broadcasting in the open that he would surrender _McDougal. _Corrigan didn't trust his fate, or that of his crew, to a murdering lunatic like Ming.

He needed to take back his ship.

Corrigan took the shoelace, which came from the boot of a sailor, dipped one end into the mixture, and hung the other end over the side of the bucket. He then pulled out a matchbook and ripped out a match. It took two swipes across the cover before it ignited. He lit the shoelace. Flames climbed up it.

"Get back!" Corrigan waved the men to the rear of the wardroom. They took cover behind chairs and under tables.

Corrigan watched the flame climb up the shoelace and into the bucket. He gave thanks to the man upstairs that the mutiny happened so fast Grantham hadn't thought to empty out the wardroom pantry. The lieutenant probably didn't think baking ingredients could be dangerous.

_Is he going to be in for a surprise._

The bucket exploded_. _The handle spiraled into the air and clattered on the metal deck. The hatch cracked open.

"Go! Go! Go!" Corrigan dashed across the wardroom. The stench of smoke and burnt powder filled his nose. He clenched his teeth to keep from coughing and flung open the hatch. The guard was picking himself off the deck, his Springfield rifle still slung over his shoulder.

Corrigan kicked him in the gut. The guard rolled on his back. Miller, DeLancey and three others poured out of the wardroom and jumped on him. Miller ripped away the Springfield.

"DeLancey. Schumacher. Tie this guy up and dump him in there." Miller nodded to the wardroom.

The two sailors dragged the guard inside.

"All right." Corrigan looked around at his men. "Let's get to the armory and retake the ship before one of Ming's rocketships arrives."

He led them down the corridor and around the corner.

Two sailors armed with Tommy Guns approached.

"Commander Corrigan?" The chubbier of the two gaped at him. "How . . . Why are you . . ."

"Hands up, Commander!" ordered the other sailor, his Tommy Gun raised. "Put the rifle down, Chief."

Miller scowled and glanced down at his Springfield. Corrigan nodded at him. A bolt-action World War One rifle against two submachine guns in close quarters was as one-sided as you could get. They'd have to find another way out of this.

The two sailors advanced.

"Come on, men." A tall, lean man with dark hair stepped up next to Corrigan, arms raised and fists clenched. "You know Lieutenant Grantham's out of his mind," said Lieutenant Winslow, _McDougal's_ gunnery officer. "If we surrender to Ming, we're as good as dead."

The chubby sailor stopped in his tracks, face scrunched in thought.

His friend, however, had no second thoughts. "You're talking 'ifs,' Lieutenant. But you saw what happened to the other destroyers. We try to fight Ming, I know we're dead. No ifs, ands or buts about it."

"Sorry you feel that way."

Winslow unclenched his fist and swiped it through the air. A cloud of salt flew out of the unscrewed shaker and into the sailor's eyes. He cried out and dropped the Tommy Gun.

Corrigan dropped him with a right cross. He then turned to the chubby sailor, who kept his Tommy Gun pointed at the deck.

"What about you . . ." He checked the sailor's nametag. "Schuble? You with us, or are you with Grantham?"

Schuble swallowed. "Um, I . . . I'm sorry, Commander. I mean, Skipper. When Lieutenant Grantham made the announcement, I mean, he's the XO. Or was. Or . . . I don't know. He's an officer, and . . ."

"I know." Corrigan picked up the Tommy Gun. "Now you have to ask yourself. Do you want to be a prisoner, or more likely, a slave of Ming the Merciless, or would you rather fight?"

"Um, fight, Skipper. Definitely fight."

"Good. Mister Winslow." Corrigan turned to the gunnery officer. "After we raid the armory, take Schuble here and five others and secure the engine room. The rest of us will take the bridge."

"Aye, Captain," replied Winslow, using the customary title for a ship's commanding officer, even though Corrigan was officially a lieutenant commander.

They reached the armory to find one sailor guarding it, holding a Tommy Gun at waist height. Corrigan swung around the corner into the open. He brought up his Tommy Gun and aimed it at the sailor's head.

"Drop the gun!"

The lone sailor stared at Corrigan in wide-eyed shock.

"I said drop it!"

The sailor glanced down at his Tommy Gun.

_Please drop the damn gun. _Mutiny or not, Corrigan had no desire to shoot one of his own crew.

"All right! All right!" The sailor let go of his submachine gun.

Corrigan gave his Tommy Gun to DeLancey, who kept the guard covered while Miller opened the armory. Only two Tommy Guns remained, but there were plenty of Springfields and .45 handguns. Once all the men were armed, Corrigan sent Winslow and his party in the direction of the engine room. After tying up the guard, the others hurried up to the bridge.

Corrigan slid along the bulkhead and peered around the corner. A squat man with thick eyebrows guarded the entrance to the bridge. He immediately recognized him. DeCarlo, a gunner's mate assigned to number three turret. The brutish man had a reputation for bullying younger sailors, shirking responsibility and accumulating disciplinary write-ups. The kind of man who'd rather quit than fight when it really mattered.

_How the hell does someone like that get in the Navy? _Realistically, with hundreds of thousands of people in the Navy, Corrigan knew there would be a certain percentage that didn't possess the same pride in the service he did.

DeCarlo was one of those.

Corrigan waved over Miller and four other sailors. With his left hand he counted down, _5, 4, 3, 2, 1._

They rushed around the corner, weapons up. DeCarlo turned and froze when he saw them.

"Drop it, DeCarlo!"

The gunner's mate scowled and let the Tommy Gun fall from his hands.

"How'd you get outta the wardroom?"

"That's, 'How did you get out of the wardroom, Sir?'"

DeCarlo grunted. "Lieutenant Grantham's in charge. He ain't gonna get us killed like you would."

"So you're fine with letting Ming the Merciless take over the world? Where's your sense of duty?"

"Stuff duty. I'd rather be alive and kicking, even if it means living under some guy from outer space."

Corrigan restrained himself from clocking this disgrace to the uniform. "Lieutenant Grantham in there?" He nodded toward the bridge.

"Yeah."

"How many other mutineers are with him?"

"Two. Ensign Heathcote and Chief Benton."

"They armed?"

"Course they are," answered DeCarlo.

Corrigan looked over his shoulder. "Miller. Open the hatch and -"

A huge arm wrapped around Corrigan's throat.

"Skipper!" shouted Miller.

"Someone get out here!" hollered DeCarlo. "Commander Corrigan's escaped!"

Corrigan let go of his Tommy Gun and rammed an elbow into DeCarlo's gut. He staggered. Corrigan slipped out of DeCarlo's chokehold, hooked him under the armpit and dropped to a knee. The big gunner's mate flew over Corrigan's shoulder and slammed into the deck.

The hatch to the bridge opened.

"What the hell's going on?" Ensign Heathcote emerged.

Miller and four other sailors pushed their way inside. Heathcote toppled over.

"Nobody move!" Miller pointed his Springfield at Grantham. The others covered Chief Benton and the bridge crew.

Corrigan snatched up his fallen Tommy Gun and made his way into the bridge. He squeezed past Miller and the other sailors, advancing on Grantham. The slender, narrow-faced lieutenant stared at him with unblinking, fearful eyes.

"This mutiny's over. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Wha-What the hell were you thinking?" His voice cracked. "You saw what Ming's rocketships did to the rest of the squadron. I was protecting the lives of this crew. You would have led them to certain death."

"What makes you think Ming's forces would let us live if we surrender? This is a United States Navy warship. We all took an oath to defend this country, and that's what we'll do, until we win or we're dead."

"You're a fool if you think we can win this war."

"I'd rather be a fool who died in the service of his country than live as a slave of someone like Ming the Merciless." He glanced at Miller. "Master-at-Arms, get this man of my bridge."

"With pleasure, Captain."

Miller grabbed Grantham's elbow and led him to the open hatch.

"It's too late, Corrigan! One of Ming's ships already radioed us. They accepted our surrender. You try to fight back, they'll kill us. You hear me? They'll kill us all!"

"Get him out of here!" Corrigan shouted back.

"Move it." Miller dragged the panicked lieutenant out of the bridge. Other sailors guarding Heathcote and Benton followed.

Corrigan looked around at the bridge crew. "Anyone here have a problem with fighting instead of surrendering?"

Every man shook his head.

"I'm from New York, Skipper," said Lieutenant, Junior Grade Diggs, the navigation officer. "Those Mongo SOBs blew the hell out of it, from what I heard. I want some payback."

"Trust me, you'll get it."

The growler phone mounted to the bulkhead buzzed. Corrigan picked it up.

"Bridge."

"Captain? This is Lieutenant Winslow. Engine room's secured."

"Good work. Now get up here. I'm going to need your gunnery skills, and very soon."

"I'm on my way, Captain. Winslow out."

Corrigan hung up the phone. "Did Grantham arrange a place to rendezvous with this rocketship?"

"Aye, Captain," replied Diggs. "Right here." He pointed at the glass plotting board.

Corrigan looked at it and grimaced. At their current speed, they'd reach that position in about 15 minutes. He flattened his hands on the board, thinking. They sure as hell couldn't outrun a spaceship. He had to –

"Captain," called out Berger, the radioman. "It's the Mongonoid rocketship. They wanna talk to you. I mean, to Lieutenant Grantham."

"Well that's not going to happen." Corrigan knew he couldn't talk to the rocketship crew. Grantham probably told them he'd locked him away. They get suspicious if he answered their hail.

"Mister Diggs," he turned to the navigation officer. "You're going to have to pretend to be captain."

"Me?"

"I don't think it'll go over well if the man Grantham relieved of command answered them. It's up to you, now. If they ask where Grantham is, tell them . . . tell them he's visiting the wounded."

A worried look formed on Diggs' face. He then drew a deep breath and straightened up. "Aye, Captain."

He walked over to Berger, who handed him the microphone. "This is United States Navy destroyer _McDougal_ responding."

"This is Imperial War Rocket Seven-Six-Three-Seven. You do not sound like Captain Grantham. Identify yourself."

"The Captain is currently tending to our wounded. I'm . . . his executive officer, Lieutenant Diggs."

A pause. Corrigan tensed, wondering if the Mongonoid bought the lie.

"Very well. Tell your captain we will rendezvous with your ship in ten minutes. All crew are to assemble on the deck, unarmed, no matter their condition. That includes your dead."

Diggs furrowed his brow. "Our dead? I don't understand?"

"Captain Grantham informed us your ship carries 194 men. We want all 194 on the deck, alive or otherwise, to ensure your surrender is not some trick. Remember, should you take any hostile action against our war rocket, you will all be destroyed. Is that understood?"

"Affirmative."

"Then tell Captain Grantham to carry out our demands. We will rendezvous in nine Earth minutes."

The transmission ended.

Diggs turned to Corrigan. "What now, Captain?"

"We do what we've been told to do. Or at least, make them think we're doing it."

**XXXXX**

Corrigan peered over the console and stared out the bridge windows. A plume of flame lit up the night sky not far from _McDougal_. The nasally buzz of the rocketship's engines carried over the water. His eyes shifted to the deck. The number one and number two five-inch gun mounts had swung around to face the bridge. The crew lined the deck and began raising their hands. All in all, the destroyer appeared very non-threatening.

The reality was much different. Lieutenant Winslow and several sailors were in the number two gun mount. A few more men hid behind _McDougal's_ searchlights. Stretched across the deck were dozens of objects covered with bed sheets. Some were the bodies of the ship's dead. Others were mattresses made up to look like corpses. It ought to fool the Mongonoids from the air. If they came aboard, they would discover the ruse in short order.

Corrigan had no intention of letting any Mongonoid set foot on _McDougal. _The success of his plan depended a lot on what the enemy did. If they really wanted to take the crew prisoner, then the plan stood a good chance of success. If they intended to just kill them, odds were very good _McDougal _would join the rest of the destroyer squadron at the bottom of the Atlantic.

The rocketship drew closer. Sweat dampened Corrigan's forehead as watched the bullet-shaped craft. His heart pounded. He half-expected ray beams to slice through his ship.

The rocketship slowed, then hovered alongside _McDougal_, which was stopped in the water.

"Lookouts," Corrigan said into the phone. "Standby on the searchlights."

Whispered acknowledgements came through the earpiece.

A hatch opened on the side of the rocketship. A ramp extended over the water and seemed to clamp onto the railing. The crew kept their arms raised.

A man emerged from the rocketship, dressed in a stiff tunic, dark pants and a Roman-style helmet. He stepped onto the ramp. Two large figures marched behind him.

Robowarriors. They reminded Corrigan of the Volkites, the metal warriors of the undersea tyrant of Atlantis Unga Khan, whom he defeated over a year ago. He wondered if they would be affected by the first part of his plan.

_Only one way to find out. _

"This is the captain," he said into the phone. "Light 'em up!"

The searchlights snapped on. High-powered beams cut through the darkness. One fell right on the cockpit windows, hopefully blinding the pilot. Another beam illuminated the Mongonoid. He threw his hands over his eyes. The robowarriors stood still, perhaps awaiting orders.

Corrigan looked to the deck. The number two turret swung around. Officers and sailors scrambled out of the way, many covering their ears. The two five-inch barrels pointed directly at the rocketship's side. The Mongonoid on the ramp lowered his hands, then started gesturing. Was he giving an order?

Two thunderclaps erupted from the five-inchers. A fireball ripped the rocketship in half. Flames swept over the ramp. The Mongonoid and two robowarriors vanished in the conflagration. Shrapnel pinged off _McDougal's _side. The remains of the rocketship fell into the Atlantic, kicking up geysers of water.

"Good shooting, Winslow," said Corrigan.

"Thank you, Captain, though from this distance, even a raw recruit couldn't miss."

"Still, good job. Get back up to the bridge."

"Aye, Captain."

Corrigan hurried to the helm and pushed the throttle forward. The engines came to life. _McDougal _surged forward. Corrigan spun the wheel, throwing the destroyer into a 180-degree turn. They needed to get away from here before more rocketships showed up.

Winslow appeared three minutes later, followed by most of the bridge crew. They had gone only three miles when Winslow took a call from one of the lookouts.

"Captain, another rocketship's been spotted, approaching our starboard side."

Corrigan gritted his teeth to keep from cursing. "Bring all guns to bear on the target, Mister Winslow."

"All guns to bear on target, aye."

The turrets swung in the direction of the approaching rocketship. Corrigan raised his binoculars to his eyes. Flames spat out the rear of the craft. He fought to maintain his calm exterior. Inside, dread grew. They'd managed to knock out three enemy ships. How much longer could their dumb luck hold out?

"Captain," Berger called out. "The rocketship's radioing us. I, um . . . I think you better take this."

Corrigan eyed him with curiosity, then went over and took the mike from him. "This is Captain Crash Corrigan of the US Navy destroyer _McDougal. _Who am I speaking to?"

"Captain, you're the man we've been looking for. This is Flash Gordon aboard the _Defender."_

Corrigan blinked in astonishment. Flash Gordon? Approaching his ship?

"Permission to come aboard?" asked Gordon.

Corrigan started to open his mouth, but didn't respond. _What if it's a trap?_

"It's an honor to speak with you, Captain Gordon. So, I wonder if you're still stinging over Army getting bashed by Navy at last year's football game."

A pause, then Gordon replied, "What are you talking about? Army beat Navy, barely. Six-nothing was the score."

A smile grew on Corrigan's face. He doubted any Mongonoid kept up with the annual Army-Navy game. This had to be the genuine article.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain Gordon. I'll be waiting to receive you on the foredeck."

Turning the bridge over to Lieutenant Diggs, Corrigan and Winslow headed out to greet Flash Gordon.

_The Flash Gordon. On my ship. _Corrigan wasn't one to fawn over famous people, but this was Flash Gordon. Not many people got to save the whole world from an outer space dictator, twice.

Like the Mongonoid rocketship, Gordon's craft hovered next to _McDougal_ and extended a ramp. Corrigan straightened when he saw Earth's greatest hero step out, followed by a middle-aged man and two others.

"I don't believe it." Winslow turned to him. "Captain, I think the guy in the fedora is Dick Tracy."

"The detective from Chicago?"

"Yes. And the one in the dark cape and hat, that has to be The Shadow."

Corrigan tilted his head, his curiosity ramped up. Flash Gordon, Dick Tracy and The Shadow, all in the same place. What could this be about?

Gordon stepped off the ramp first and strode up to him. "Captain Corrigan. Flash Gordon."

They shook hands. "An honor to meet you, Captain Gordon. This is my gunnery officer, Lieutenant Winslow."

"Also a pleasure, Sir." Winslow shook Gordon's hand. To his credit, the lieutenant also maintained a professional demeanor.

The middle-aged man introduced himself as William Donovan, a "special advisor" to President Roosevelt. Judging from the three heroes standing before him, he had given FDR some very special advice.

"Is it safe to say you're here for some special mission?"

"That we are, Captain," said Donovan.

"Then consider _McDougal _at your disposal. How can we help?"

"Actually, Captain, we're not here to commandeer the _McDougal. _We're here to commandeer you."

Corrigan's forehead crinkled. "I'm sorry."

"Per President Roosevelt's orders, I'm forming a group of extraordinary men to turn the tables on Ming."

"And you want me in this group?"

"Please, Captain," Donovan grinned. "Don't be modest. If not for you, Unga Khan would have destroyed our world with his earthquake machine. Then who knows? He and Ming might have been fighting over what was left of Earth."

Donovan stepped closer to Corrigan. "We have to face reality. Our Army and Navy, the armies and navies of every country, are no match for Ming's forces."

"With all due respect, Sir," said Winslow. "We have already shot down three of Ming's rocketships."

Donovan stared at the gunnery officer, half-impressed, half-disbelieving. He looked back at Corrigan. "Is that true?"

"It is. Though we were very lucky."

"Then I think you can see why we need you on our team. I respect the accomplishments and courage of your crew, but it's going to take more to win this war than shooting down a few rocketships. It's going to take exceptional men, men who possess great intelligence and unmatched daring, who are able to strike a decisive blow against Ming."

"If The President wants me on your team, then consider me part of it."

"Trust me, The President does want you."

"Very well." Corrigan turned to Winslow. "Mister Winslow, I am transferring command of _McDougal _to you."

"Aye, Sir." He saluted. "Where do you want me to take her?"

Corrigan thought for a moment. "Head south to the Caribbean. Hopefully Ming's forces haven't struck there yet. Try to link up with any of our ships there, or any British or French ships if they're around."

"Aye, Sir. Good luck."

"And to you."

The two officers shook hands before Corrigan followed Donovan, Gordon and the others onto the _Defender._

"You think that young lieutenant can avoid Ming's rockets and get this tin can to the Caribbean safely?"

Corrigan took one last look at _McDougal, _his gaze lingering on the ramrod straight form of her new skipper. "I wouldn't worry, Mister Donovan. I have a feeling before all is said and done, you'll be hearing a lot more about Don Winslow of the Navy."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Don Winslow of the Navy debuted as a comic strip in 1934 and ran until 1955. It was also turned into a radio program in 1937 and a film serial in 1942._

_Unga Khan was the main villain in the 1936 Crash Corrigan film serial "The Undersea Kingdom."_


End file.
